Art & Alchemy
by languidbones
Summary: "Paint me tomorrow. From memory. I want you to think of me." For years, the dreamy, artistic Rose found a muse in the lone wolf Scorpius Malfoy. And in his expert opinion, she's the only friend worth having... Until friendship was no longer enough. Scorpius/Rose.
1. Collyfen

_I'm supposed to working on More Issues Than Vogue, but I've been writing this for awhile and couldn't wait to share it. It'll likely be 7 chapters. Do review and I'll try to update ASAP, or check out my other Rose/Scorpius :)_

* * *

 **First year: Collyfen**

That's the girl. The girl his father warned him about.

There were a few important lessons young Scorpius Malfoy's parents had drilled into him. _Don't be a smartass. Don't try and show off. Be kind to muggle-borns. Don't get on the wrong side of Potters or Weasleys._ He sat there in the Great Hall on his first evening in Hogwarts, eating quietly because nobody really wanted to talk to a Malfoy. His father had warned him of how it would be. After all, their family name was etched in _Hogwarts: A History_ , permanently inked into countless pages, forever tarnished by mistakes made years before.

Scorpius had already decided he hated history. And mashed potatoes.

And there she was, cocooned by a sea of excited redheads and loud, boisterous chatter. She's not a Gryffindor but a Hufflepuff, but she fit right into the fray, all crinkley eyes and dreamy smile. Everything about her looked so safe; she would never have to worry about being lonely.

Unlike him, she would never be alone.

She seemed harmless enough. But Scorpius took his father's words to heart.

Scorpius was reticent by nature, and as term began proper he found himself isolated from the rest of Slytherin. His family history probably didn't help, but Scorpius supposed he didn't mind being left alone.

A few weeks in, most of the first years became enamoured with Quidditch. From a young age, he'd always thought it to be an overly raucous affair, preferring to spend his time with a book. Never mind the new Firebolt owled to him a few days back; he knew his father had always been somewhat disappointed that his son never warmed to the sport, and bore hopes that he would change his mind. Well, Scorpius thought drily, that's not likely to happen.

While everyone was out watching the first Quidditch game of the season, Scorpius found solace in the Library. He enjoyed the silence, and it thrilled him to be surrounded by books. With the whole school outdoors, he had the study area to himself.

Or so he thought.

He removed a book from the shelf to find a pair of keen blue eyes staring right at him from the other side. He let out a gasp; the book hit the ground with a loud thump. Before he could react, she appeared right before him, swiping the book from the floor and offering it to him.

Her sudden presence startled him. The sunlight caught the gold in her red hair. He found himself distracted by it.

"Hello. I'm Rose Weasley," she said breathlessly, and she was watching him intently, a sort of wonderment in her eyes—"You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

It made little sense how Rose Weasley was the only other person in the Library with him when the rest of her family were out there screaming their lungs out for the team of choice, most likely Gryffindor. But Rose Weasley—Hufflepuff Rose Weasley—only smiled brightly at him, as though the statement she just made wasn't at all _strange_ , then set her books and quills down across from him and proceeded to do her own thing.

Scorpius wanted to tell her that he really just wanted his alone time, but Rose said not a word after her greeting. He sneaked a glance or two at her while she was working. Her notes were jumbled and messy, with random doodles all across the margins of her textbook. But she didn't bother him, and he wasn't one to strike up a conversation, and so they left it at that and worked quietly across from each other.

* * *

He had no clue how or why, but Rose stuck to him like a bee to honey since. Her cousin Albus Potter was a little weirded out by her clinginess, but not as much as Scorpius was. In that respect, at least they had something in common.

He knew that Rose was a little odd, and for all her natural smarts she wasn't exactly winning House points in any of her classes. She chose him for her Potions partner (because he was brilliant at the subject), sat with him in almost every class (because he was quiet, unlike Albus), and loved to peek at his notes (because the stuff he doodled in his margins were so fascinating).

"What are you drawing?" she whispered in one class.

Scorpius looked away from the blackboard. "What—? Oh. They're symbols." He pointed them out to her. "This one stands for Soapstone, and this one Pewter." He glanced at her textbook. The margins of her text were full of portraits of a pointy-faced boy that looked oddly like himself. "…What are _you_ drawing?"

"You," she replied easily, popping a Sherbet Lemon into her mouth and giving him a toothy smile.

They looked rather silly side by side. Scorpius was immaculate, his robes beautifully tailored to match his small frame. Rose, on the other hand, looked the way she always did—as though she'd just walked through a whirlwind. Her robes were too big on her, and her red hair was held in a loose bun by a pencil. Despite her parents' fame—Rose herself had grown up in the society pages of wizarding world—Scorpius noticed people were starting to avoid her.

Her quills often went missing, her books were stained with ink and paint, and sometimes so were her robes. Kids often snickered about her frazzled appearance. Once, when Scorpius heard a group of second years whispering snidely about Rose's sloppy appearance, he shot them a Jelly Leg Jinx when they weren't looking. Rose had laughed about it, and that in itself made it worth it.

He was hypersensitive to what people said about him, and in turn what they said about his companion. Yet she never seemed to let any of it bother her. She was constantly daydreaming, chewing on her pencil as she hummed. Her mother Hermione was a Muggle-born, she explained, as though he didn't already know, and often preferred to write the Muggle way. She herself liked pencils. "Much more convenient than quills," she said enthusiastically. "Not very traditional, but the easiest thing to draw with. And they keep my hair up."

As the weeks wore on, her clinginess became comfortable. In the Great Hall, the only time they sat apart, he found himself missing the way she forgot personal space, and the way her hair always tickled his cheek when she leaned close. Whenever Rose caught his gaze from the Hufflepuff table, her face would light up, and Scorpius wouldn't feel so alone.

* * *

"Why do you never hang out with your cousins?"

Rose was barefoot this sunny afternoon, her toes wiggling happily in the grass. They often took walks after Charms class in companionable silence. Scorpius liked that she wasn't the chatty sort. Like him, she seemed happier to observe her surroundings. While he took notes on peculiar botany they chanced upon, she drew them instead. One day, Scorpius thought, he could use her sketchbook as a reference point for his plant research.

Rose tilted her head slightly, considering the question as she chewed on her sugar quill.

"When I'm with you," she said finally, "they leave me alone."

It was a blunt statement, and it stung slightly. Scorpius pursed his lips, unsure of what to say. Rose turned her head and offered him a small smile. "My father told me to avoid you," she admitted, "but I never could resist a pretty thing."

"Pretty—?"

"Hmm. When I was six, there were Collyfen growing in my garden. They're these tall, wide petal blooms, a deep maroon in the middle that fades into a bright fuchsia towards the tip. They smelled like granmum's old pickles but I loved them. They don't come by often, you know—a window of a few weeks, just before autumn. They were the most beautiful flowers I'd ever seen. I spent every day of those weeks painting and sketching them. I never tired of it. My mum and dad thought I'd gone barmy. My cousins took the piss out of me, but I didn't care." She looked wistfully out to the Great Lake. "The Collyfen flowers didn't last, anyway. It was stupid, but I cried about it."

Scorpius wasn't sure how to react to the story, or what it had to do with him, but then Rose looked up at him, her blue eyes keenly catching his own grey ones—"You, Scorpius Malfoy, are like a Collyfen flower. My cousins can make fun of me for it, but I still won't care."

Scorpius let the story sink in. "So I smell like old pickles?"

"Oh, no. You smell nothing like Collyfen." Rose leaned in and pressed her nose in his shoulder. Scorpius felt his face heat up at her proximity. "Notes of nutmeg and sandalwood, in fact." She beamed. "Though you certainly look every bit as lovely."

She was interesting that way. Scorpius had grown up his whole life around graceful, elegant women. His mother, while the most loving person he knew, was a perfect example—aloof, impeccably mannered, with wonderful social graces. His grandmother, too, expressed her affections in the most dignified of ways. And she never went barefoot in the grass. Ever.

Rose, on the other hand, defied everything Scorpius knew a lady to be. She had none of the qualities his father insisted young women should have—restraint and decorum. Perhaps that was why he warned Scorpius of her in the first place.

Funny. Scorpius found her rather charming.

"Rose," he said then, "You're odd, you know that?"

Rose's eyes crinkled. "So I've been told."

"It's a good thing," Scorpius said, and they exchanged a smile.


	2. Carpenters

**Second year: Carpenters**

" _Scorpius_!"

Scorpius had only just turned to the source of the voice when red hair filled his vision. He uttered an _oof_ as Rose collided right into his chest, barely keeping his balance as the redhead wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing merrily in his ear.

"Hey Rose," he said in a strangled tone. Rose pulled away, her enthusiasm drowning out any apology she might have had in mind.

"I've missed you!" she cried. "You look wonderful. Summer's been good to you then? Oh, nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Malfoy! I'm Rose Weasley."

Scorpius blinked, remembering his parents. His mother looked torn between delight and astonishment; his father's eye twitched very slightly. Behind Rose, he spotted Mr Weasley's reddening face from a distance. If looks could kill, Scorpius was sure he'd already be dead.

He quickly disentangled himself from Rose's exuberant embrace.

"Egypt was lovely," he said instead, unable to keep from smiling despite the death threat staring at him across the platform.

Rose beamed. "Save me a seat in your compartment?"

As she returned to say her goodbyes to her family, Scorpius heard his father clear his throat.

"So you're friends with the Weasley girl, then?"

"Her name is Rose, father," he said, sounding more defensive than he intended. His father said nothing, only rested his cool gaze on the gaggle of Weasleys standing some distance away. Then, quite unnecessarily, Scorpius added, "We study together."

"Well, she seems like a fine young lady," his mother said, after a tense silence. Scorpius gave her hand a grateful squeeze. If his father had any thoughts on the matter, he held this tongue. Instead, he held out Scorpius' owl cage to him.

"Look out for yourself," he said evenly.

"I will," Scorpius said. As he waved his final goodbye and boarded Hogwarts Express, he couldn't help the smile sneaking onto his face as he hurried off to find an empty compartment.

* * *

So much for looking out for himself.

It was only a few days into second year, and Scorpius had already landed in the Hospital Wing. When he came to, groggy and aching all over, Madam Pomfrey was still fussing over him. She had applied a heinously stinky balm on his face to curb the swelling; his eyes teared from its stench. He winced at the stinging pain on his face, leaning back in his pillow and trying to make himself comfortable. The swell was so bad he could barely see past his fat eyelids.

Well, at least he made sure bloody Zabini grew a pair of ugly antlers.

The term had barely started, and already his housemates were eagerly living up to the stereotype of being elitist pricks. Scorpius identified with his house—he agreed with cleverness, ambition and resourcefulness—but certain housemates clearly preferred to indulge their bigoted side, mouthing off on their supposed superiority every chance they got.

Especially Zabini, who was in the midst of his anti-Hufflepuff tirade when Scorpius hexed him in the face.

It was worth it, even if it meant Scorpius now had two weeks of detention for instigating a fight in the hallway.

His father wasn't going to be pleased.

"Oh, Scorpius."

Scorpius turned his head to Rose's voice. Her footsteps neared, and he heard her take a seat beside his bed. "Hey," he croaked. Even his voice sounded swollen. He could only make out a bit of her from beneath the narrow slits of his eyelids.

"Shh. I had to sneak in." She sounded awfully worried. "What on earth happened? Al told me Zabini cast the Stinging Jinx on you after your Transfiguration class."

"Did he also mention the fact that I gave Zabini antlers?"

"Antlers?"

"I hope he has a bollocking headache," Scorpius said thickly.

He felt her fingers curl into his. "It's not like you to get into a fight."

"Well, he was being a prick. Slytherin, as you well know, is full of them."

"Al told me he was saying some nasty stuff about Hufflepuff." Rose's voice was quiet. "Was that what it was about? I'm sure he gives you a hard time about being my friend."

"He's probably jealous I'm your friend."

"Why would he be?" She sounded puzzled.

"Who _wouldn't_ want to be your friend? Only you would visit someone who looks like a right troll." He sniffled; the stinky balm was making his nose run.

Rose laughed. He could feel her fingertips graze his cheek. "You look awful. But still pretty, I promise." There was a rising mischief in her voice. "…Can I sketch you real quick?"

"No."

"For memory's sake. I already miss your face."

Scorpius clasped her hand tightly in his to keep her from reaching for the pencil in her hair. "Not like this. I'll let you sketch me when I'm all better."

"Only if you promise not to get into fights again. It's not worth it."

"If people aren't going to be nicer to you, I'm not going to stand for it."

Rose said nothing for a moment, then—"You sound like a Gryffindor."

"You're going to regret saying that," he mumbled, genuinely affronted. Rose chuckled, and it surprised him to feel her fingers run gently through his hair. Despite his bloated face, he could feel a blush heating up his neck. It was probably a good thing he could hardly see her; he wouldn't know where to look.

"Hurry up and get better," she said. "It's not the same without you."

* * *

"Oh, brill," Albus Potter said, when he bumped into Scorpius a day later. "You're back. Hey, so are your cheekbones!"

Scorpius raised an eyebrow at this, continuing his way down the hall. Albus rolled his eyes and kept pace. "Malfoy, wait up. I need your help."

Scorpius was not interested. "Have you seen Rose?"

"As a matter of fact…"

A few minutes later, Scorpius was following Albus up Gryffindor Tower and joining a very grumpy Gryffindor crowd. There was some sort of commotion; students were standing around looking bored or irritated. Scorpius frowned, going on tip-toes to see what was going on. It seemed the Gryffindors were held up outside their own portrait hole.

"It's Rose," Albus explained with a weary sigh. "She's been holding the Fat Lady hostage for half an hour."

Scorpius frowned. "Why?"

"Some sort of interrogation. She did that with my great-grandad's portrait once. Scary stuff."

" _That's_ why you dragged me up here?"

Albus offered a helpless shrug. "Frankly, at this point I'm willing to do anything to gain entry into my own common room."

The Fat Lady, guardian of Gryffindor Tower, was looking increasingly annoyed with Rose, who looked tiny before the towering portrait. "Do you remember what else he said?" she was saying, ignoring the grousing of the Gryffindors behind her. " _Expergo_? That's it?"

"I'm telling you, young lady, that's all I heard from my handsome painter," the Fat Lady cried. "I was too occupied with his face to care about what he was saying."

"But," Rose persisted, "surely he did more to bring you alive in your portrait? Perhaps he mentioned something about his paint, or his brushes—"

The Fat Lady gave an exasperated shriek, rattling the wineglasses in her portrait.

Dominique Weasley, the current Head Girl, had her hand firmly on Rose's shoulder. "You heard her, Rosie. This has gone long enough. I'm going to need you to step aside."

"I'm sure the Fat Lady remembers more than she's telling me, Dom. She barely recalled anything half an hour ago!"

"Exactly, it's been _half an hour_ ," Dominique said in a tight voice. "Rosie, have some consideration. This isn't your turf. Don't make me take points from Hufflepuff."

Rose opened her mouth to protest. Albus chose this moment to shove Scorpius forward. Scorpius tripped on someone's foot and stumbled into Rose's back. She turned, her face lighting up.

"Scorpius! You're back!"

"Hey?" Scorpius said awkwardly.

The portrait swung open just then to reveal James Potter and Fred Weasley, both of whom _ooohed_ and _aaahed_ when they saw Rose and Scorpius. The stranded Gryffindors jumped on the opportunity to dash into the common room.

"My, my, what a reunion we have here!" James said brightly, ruffling Rose's hair. "Brought your boyfriend, didn't you?"

"Got any new sketches recently?" Fred added, swiping Rose's sketchbook from her arm and opening it. "Wow, James, look at all _this_ —"

"Honestly, Rose, you doing a study of Malfoy, or—?"

"Bloody hell. You're obsessed with the bloke!"

"Come on, clear out," Dominique said wearily. "Rose's been holding everyone up the past half hour. Let's give the Fat Lady a break, shall we?"

"That would be ideal," the Fat Lady huffed, fanning herself.

Rose's cheeks were burning as she snatched her sketchbook back from Fred. Albus gave her arm a squeeze before he followed Dominique through the portrait hole. Before James and Fred could say another word, Scorpius grabbed Rose's hand.

"Hey, hey, where are you going?" James protested. "We barely had a chat, come on now—"

Scorpius strode off briskly, Rose's hand clasped tightly in his.

Rose kept her head down as they approached the open grounds. They only came to a stop when Scorpius decided they were completely alone. Rose was still holding his hand, so tightly it almost hurt.

"Hey," he said awkwardly. "Um. You alright?"

"Yeah," Rose mumbled. It startled Scorpius to see her on the verge of tears. She dried her eyes impatiently with her sleeve. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

It was strange; Rose never gave a toss about what people said about her, yet here she was, half in tears over a few offhanded remarks from her cousins. Suddenly he understood why she isolated herself from them—she took their words to heart, and their words often stung. He recalled Dominique's brusque tone and Fred and James' unkind teasing, and it occurred to him that Rose Weasley kept a tender heart.

"It must be hard on you," he said at last.

"It's alright." She managed a small smile, clutching tightly to her sketchbook. "I suppose it was my fault for pestering the Fat Lady in the first place. Dom was right. I was being inconsiderate." She looked down at her feet. "Um. Also, about what James and Fred said… it's not… I mean…"

"It's fine. I don't mind," Scorpius said quickly, not wanting to bring it up again. Rose nodded, looking embarrassed.

Scorpius stuffed his hands in his pockets, hating the awkward silence between them. More than that, seeing Rose upset didn't sit well with him. He liked it better when she was smiling. He took a deep breath, then held out his hand to her.

"I have something to show you. Come on."

* * *

For as long as he remembered, Scorpius was intrigued with alchemy and its mysteries. His earliest childhood memory involved his father poring over its symbols, as though trying to decode its secrets. From an early age, Scorpius would often sneak into his father's study. It was a fascinating room, filled with displays of de-magicked dark objects from the wizarding war, as well as alchemic manuscripts his father had collected from his travels over the years. The dark objects were only marginally interesting to him; Scorpius was always more drawn to the manuscripts. Since entering Hogwarts, he had given hours to understand the subject.

It was ironic that it was at Gryffindor Tower that Scorpius found courage to share his hiding place with Rose. They walked along the length of the castle, towards the deserted North Wing. In the corner of the ground floor was the door to an abandoned classroom. It was here that he'd spent countless afternoons, reading avidly and indulging in his very nerdy obsession of alchemy and plant research. For over a year, it was his, and his alone.

He pushed open the heavy wooden door. The room was filled with trinkets stored from years of Muggle Studies class—from old record players, vintage furniture, to odd-looking communication devices. Muggles, it seemed, invented new things at a dastardly rate.

He watched Rose nervously as she stepped into the room, an awed expression on her face. She trailed her hand across a dusty bookcase, taking in the tall ceilings and endless nooks and crannies stuffed with Muggle inventions, before setting down her sketchbook atop a chest of drawers. In the corner of the room that Scorpius claimed as his own was a tall bookshelf that held not books, but jars of the botany he collected on his walks with Rose.

She wandered towards it, and he could see amazement fill her eyes.

"It's yours," she said, staring at the jars of botany with undisguised curiosity. "You come here to be alone." She seemed almost to be talking to herself now. "And you're sharing this with me."

Scorpius shrugged, leaning against a desk. "You're a nice person," he said carefully, "but you hate people. Kind of like me, really."

There was a quirk in the corner of Rose's lips, but she said nothing.

"No one will find us here," he continued, absently picking up an old vinyl record and dusting it off. "…Well, maybe only once a year, when they come to dump a new bunch of Muggle artefacts. You're welcome to be here. Whenever you like."

"My mum listens to Carpenters," Rose said, after a long moment. "I love them."

Scorpius couldn't explain the goose bumps rising in his skin. It was a cool day, yet his cheeks were warm. He cleared his throat. "Um, yeah. I put this on once. They're not bad."

"They're brilliant." She was looking right at him now, her eyes bright. "You _do_ know that you won't be able to get rid of me now."

Scorpius couldn't help a smile. "I don't mind that."

"How can I thank you? Anything you like?" Rose reached into her pockets. "Sherbet Lemons, perhaps?"

She had a hopeful expression on her face. The faded sunlight from the window unraveled the gold in her red hair. Once again, Scorpius was distracted. Then, without thinking—"When I give my mother something, she gives me a kiss."

And before he realised what he said, Rose had kissed his cheek, her lips warm against his skin.


	3. Manet

_Thank you for all the kind reviews! Do leave your feedback—would love to know what you think._

* * *

 **Third year: Manet**

Rose came to stay in the summer.

It had been his idea for her to spend a few days at the Manor. She'd been owling him constantly, sharing her troubles over the lack of privacy in her household. _I can't get anything done at all,_ she wrote, and he could imagine her misery— _there's no peace and quiet to be found._

 _There isn't you, either._

He was worried that Rose would reject the idea. After all, they all knew of the Manor's role in the war. While it was something his father never talked about, Scorpius could see how the Weasleys would be against their daughter coming to stay.

Her owl returned three days later.

 _Sorry my answer took awhile! Mum and dad got into a rather long argument about it. Dad didn't think it'd be safe for me to come alone. To be honest, Scorpius, I didn't have high hopes._

 _Later mum took me aside and explained that it would be unfair to punish you and me for everything that happened between both our parents. You and I had no part in their battles, after all. She thinks the current hostility between families undermines everything they'd done to end the war. She said it'll take my dad awhile to understand that, but he'll come around… one day._

 _Good news is, she asked about you. I said you are kind and intelligent, and that she'll like you very much. So mum said it will be alright for me to stay, on the condition I owl her every morning._

 _So, in short, yes! When can I come?_

So now Rose Weasley was here, dusting herself off at the fireplace, and Draco and Astoria Malfoy were there to receive her. His father was reserved in his welcome; his mother, however, was as gracious as ever, and Scorpius suspected she was pleased that he had at least one friend he trusted enough to bring home.

Rose's face had lit up the moment she appeared through the green flames, and it warmed Scorpius to know she wasn't outwardly uncomfortable around his somewhat infamous father. Perhaps it was the result of growing up around war heroes. She simply wasn't easily awestruck.

Rose was given a guestroom a long way down the hall from Scorpius'—he thought his father was perhaps behind that, for _safety_ measures.

After she set down her things, he gave her a tour.

It surprised him, but Rose adored the Manor. She was utterly taken by the endless displays of magical paintings and sculptures, spending a ridiculous amount of time with each one. Some of the Malfoys' artwork dated back into the early 1600's, with portraits of his ancestors in their favourite chairs, and famous scenes from the Malfoy family history.

As Rose observed the marble work on the sculpture of Brutus Malfoy, Scorpius spotted Septimus Malfoy's portrait snoring on the other side of the hall. He nudged Rose gently.

"Come here, you need to see this."

Rose's jaw dropped the moment she stopped before the painting. "Holy cricket! How did he manage to get his portrait done by Manet?"

"From what I heard, Manet wasn't keen." Scorpius couldn't hide his smile at Rose's astonishment. "He was commissioned, but tried to resign twice because he found Septimus to be a terrible sitter. He complained often, and was just generally unpleasant to be around. When Septimus asked him why the final painting looked awful, I believe Manet's exact words were, 'I wouldn't change a thing. Of course it looks like a donkey's arse, have you seen the subject'?"

Rose burst out laughing, and Scorpius joined her.

"That's a great story," she said merrily. "He was one the greatest wizarding painters to ever have lived. And, I suppose, one of the most truthful." She smiled up at him, her eyes bright. "He was in love with his muse, did you know?"

"Was he?"

"Oh, yes. She was an exceptional painter, too. But she was a Muggle, and in those days it was unheard of for a wizard to marry one. In the end she married his Squib brother, Eugene."

Just then, Septimus Malfoy opened an eye, regarding Rose and Scorpius in horror. "Is that a Weasley? In Malfoy Manor?" he cried, jumping out of his chair and drawing his wand. "My boy! Was this your doing? What are we turning into?"

Rose look questioningly at Scorpius, who shrugged as Septimus Malfoy hurried out of his portrait. "Ignore him, he's just as batty as the rest of them. My ancestors thought the Weasleys to be blood traitors. My parents don't, and neither do I. So you don't have anything to worry about, really."

"Ah. My great-granddad was called Septimus, too."

"Really. What are the chances?"

"We have a portrait of him at The Burrow. Fred calls him Sappy Septimus. He has nothing nice to say about your family too, unfortunately." She looked apologetic about it; Scorpius found this endearing somehow. "Other times, he's just an emotional wreck. Granmum likes to cover him up with Uncle Charlie's old blanket to keep him quiet."

He showed her his room at the end of the tour. It was nothing like Rose expected. While the rest of Malfoy Manor was an exercise in grandeur, Scorpius' room held signs of a living, breathing person who avidly pursued academic hobbies. Long scrolls of parchment were spread across his desk, and charts of plant anatomy tacked across the walls; there were books on most surfaces of the room, from tables to armchairs. There was an assortment of alchemical tools scattered across a work table. She turned to face him, unable to contain her amusement.

"It's the summer, and you're still at it!"

Scorpius smiled playfully at her. "Aren't _you_ still at it?"

Rose was reminded of the sketchbook she refused to put down, and blushed. She observed the symphony of flasks and tubes, alongside a pestle and mortar, with a varied set of clay vessels and crucibles.

"Are you studying metals?" she asked curiously. Metals were crucial to alchemy, yet there was nothing on his desk to indicate an interest in those. Apart from the instruments, all she saw were plant samples placed neatly in jars, akin to those he kept in their hideout in the North Wing.

"Well. Metals are core to alchemy, but no. At least, not right this moment."

Rose looked quizzically at him.

"I'm more interested in plants," Scorpius admitted. "The idea of turning metal into gold was a fascinating prospect when I was younger. But now my field of study is more spagyric."

"Spa—what?"

"Plant alchemy. It's about harmonising the elements in a plant, and recreating it in its purest form." Scorpius picked a vial filled with a pale gold liquid from the cabinet and held it under the light. "This is the White Willow plant after refinement. It has potent healing properties, but refuses to be stored for long before self-destructing."

"White Willow is a temperamental plant," Rose said slowly, recalling what she'd read over Scorpius' shoulder back in school. "I remember! You were studying it for awhile."

"I still am." Scorpius tilted his head thoughtfully as Rose studied the vial. "It's the riddle I'm trying to solve at the moment. Maybe it'll last through combination with the tincture of a calmer plant, possibly the flower of the reticent Hedgewog—I have to run a few more tests."

"So what you do advances potion-making."

"Yes. Without magic, Muggles have advanced in medicinal studies, but in our world it's a dying art. The most important cures from the last few decades have come from talented Potion masters, but even the best of them would require breakthroughs in spagyrics to concoct medicinal recipes for specific ailments, such as the recent Newtpox." Rose was biting her lip, as though to hide a smile. "What?"

"Nothing. I like when you talk about this. You don't usually."

He grinned. "Well, we all know how much you like peace and quiet."

"Scorpius," Rose said earnestly, "you're _brilliant._ "

Somehow, Scorpius had always known he was; he found his classes too easy, and for most of his life had only felt challenged by alchemy. Yet, as Rose beamed up at him, he felt the words dry up in his throat, with an odd clutch in his chest that felt like the deepest of affections. Rose set down the vial, grabbing his hand and sitting them down on the couch.

"You could talk my ear off, Scorpius. I'd _let_ you." She put aside her sketchbook and stuck her pencil behind her ear, turning to him with lopsided grin that made his cheeks heat up. "Now, tell me more about this Newtpox."

* * *

In the evening, Scorpius found his father having a glass of red on the veranda. He had spent the afternoon reading, and only emerged from his room to look for Rose, who had insisted on spending her time with the paintings around the Manor.

"Father," he greeted. Draco looked as though he was deep in thought.

"I found your friend Rose with Septimus an hour ago," he said slowly, setting down his wineglass. "They were arguing about Manet, and his merits as a painter. I believe the shouting match ended when she told Septimus it was obvious he had no regards for the arts."

Scorpius tried to keep a straight face. "Yeah, sounds like her. She argues with paintings pretty often."

Draco only watched him contemplatively. "You seem happy with her."

Scorpius gave his father a questioning look. In return, Draco took another sip of his wine. His silence, while usually comfortable, felt unnerving to Scorpius. He had a feeling his father wasn't saying everything he wanted to.

"I like talking to her," Scorpius said, after a long moment.

"Surely that's not the only thing you like." Draco stood up, placing a hand on Scorpius' shoulder as he nodded towards the grounds. Rose was standing in the middle of the green, her dreamy gaze set on the darkening sky.

"Better get her in before it rains," he said, before going inside.

* * *

The door had barely shut behind Draco when the skies opened up.

Scorpius plodded through the grass, feeling water soak into his shoes. Rose stood out in the landscape, her red hair stark against the greenery. The rain fell mercilessly, in sheets.

"Rose," he called, but sounds of the storm overwhelmed his voice. He reached out and caught her arm. Her eyes were closed, her face tilted up to the clouds. He wasn't surprised to see her feet bare in the grass. Raindrops trailed down her cheeks like tears. "Rose," he coaxed, "come back in with me."

"Can't." He could barely hear her through the crash of thunder. "Research."

"Don't make me carry you."

"In a minute."

By then they were already soaked through, the storm swallowing them up completely. Scorpius watched as she caught the water in her palms, her usually wild hair flattened against her cheeks. One moment, two—then Rose smiled up at him, squinting through the rain as she held out her hand to him.

She was shivering by the time they made it back to the Manor. The House Elves worried themselves upon seeing them dripping all over the marble, while Rose worried about them as they fetched dry things for her ("my mum will have a fit if she knew I let them!").

Moments later she was in pyjamas and comfortably seated at the foot of the bed, sipping blissfully at a cup of tea as Scorpius toweled her damp hair behind her. A drying spell from a House Elf was all it would take, but neither of them mentioned this as Scorpius ran his fingers through Rose's red strands.

They sat in companionable silence for a while until Scorpius noticed her watching him, her cheek now resting delicately against his knee.

"What?" he asked good-naturedly, setting the towel aside.

She smiled, somewhat shyly.

"I can't write poetry, but you make me want to try."

As always, her honesty was disarming. Scorpius had just come in from the cold, yet he could feel the heat prickling the back of his neck. At times like these, he wondered if a part of her was smitten with a side of him he didn't even know.

"Albus calls me your muse, you know," he teased lightly. Yet, he found the idea puzzling; how an ordinary person like him could provide any sort of inspiration to someone like Rose.

Dreamy, talented Rose.

Gently, he let the strands of her hair slip from between his fingers.

"Maybe that's what it is," Rose conceded thoughtfully. She tilted her head back, leaning against his legs. "I just knew by watching you that afternoon in the library, back in first year."

"The day we met."

"Yes." The memory brought a twinkle to her eye. "You were by the window, and you weren't doing anything out of the ordinary. But that was what made you so extraordinary to me. How you could merely stand there and look like something out of my imagination. I knew then I wanted to paint you. Any dreams you've had, all the sights you've seen. Even that thing you do with your mouth when I ask you a question."

"And what do I do with my mouth, exactly?"

Rose puckered her lips a little. "Like this. Whenever you're thinking of an answer."

She was the cutest thing. Scorpius watched her, trying not to smile.

"What?" Rose said, suddenly self-conscious. She rubbed her cheek. "Is there something on my face?"

He couldn't resist; he burst out laughing. "No… Just—I was thinking about what you said. How was that not poetry?" He tugged fondly at a lock of her hair. "You're terribly romantic."

She blushed, but kept her smile. "Am I? That's just how I feel."

"You know I don't mind it. But keep this up and people will get the wrong idea."

Rose didn't bat an eye at this. "Well, they don't understand us."

He gave her an affectionate pat on her head, and moved to retreat to his room. Rose grabbed his hand. "Won't you stay? You know I work better when you're around."

"Sleep, then. You shouldn't work at this hour."

"Scorpius." She looked dolefully at him. "I told you, I was researching. It's too interesting to stop now. Also, um, this is the biggest room I've slept in. Ever." Her voice was small now. "It's actually kind of scary being alone here."

Scorpius eventually obliged her, because when had he ever been able to say no to Rose Weasley? He returned with a book, and they studied together until he fell asleep to the comforting sounds of her pencil scratching on parchment.

* * *

When Scorpius awoke the next morning, Rose was passed out beside him, her pencil still in hand and her nose in his shoulder. Beside her were rolls of parchment with roughly scribbled incantations, unfinished sketches of his sleeping face filling the margins.

He sat up in the sheets, picking up the book from under her arm. _A Vexed Attempt To Expound On The Principles of Moving Landscapes_ by Frits Thaulow, he noted with a little smile. The chapter she was on was named _FEEL NATURE IN FULL OR YOU CANNOT SUMMON IT._

"Well, that explains a few things," he murmured.

For a moment, Scorpius was tempted to return to his room and continue his studies—there were more tests to be done on the White Willow. He paused, listening to the hush of the storm outside, in tune to the sound of Rose's quiet breaths. His hand absently reached for hers. As though by reflex, her fingers curled gently into his.

He would stay, just little while longer.


	4. Paracelsus

_Thank you so much for the reviews! I appreciate every one._

* * *

 **Fourth year: Paracelsus**

Before school began, Scorpius met Noel Needham.

Noel Needham was a Muggle-born wizard, and one the few remaining plant alchemists left in the world. Needham's findings in spagyrics were instrumental in the development of the Wolfsbane potion. For most of his career, he travelled avidly, helping Potioneers across Europe craft medicinal recipes for various ailments.

Professor Horace Slughorn, long aware of Scorpius' talent in Potions, masterminded their first meeting despite Needham's reluctance. Slughorn said nothing about it, but Scorpius was not naïve; not many wizards of Needham's stature were keen to associate with the Malfoys. Even so, Slughorn managed to persuade his old friend to partake in what he called a 'chemistry session'. It was, to Scorpius' amazement, a huge success.

Needham turned up at the Malfoy Manor towards the end of summer. The alchemist was a short man with a thick beard, and Scorpius took an immediate liking to him. Needham was well-read and sharp, yet exuded a warm presence. Unlike most wizards, he expressed a special fondness for invention, speaking highly of Muggles and their developments in medicine. And, like Scorpius, he was passionately curious about plants and their uses.

Draco and Astoria had been flummoxed by this meeting at the Manor, sipping tentatively at their wines as they watched Scorpius and Needham engage in a heated discussion over the possible solutions to a Newtpox cure. By the end of the evening, Needham had agreed to a residency at the school, on the condition that Scorpius stayed his mentee for a few years after graduation.

Slughorn was suitably pleased by this. Alchemists were a rare breed, Needham informed the Malfoys, and were to be carefully mentored. "You have a bright boy," he told Draco and Astoria, wiping a tear as he shook their hands with great enthusiasm—by now Draco and Astoria felt almost as though they had just married off their son—"Oh, how wonderful it is to meet the likeminded! How lucky of me to come by! Young Scorpius and I will do great things together, I assure you."

So, in fourth year, Scorpius began Alchemy classes with Professor Noel Needham.

* * *

When Scorpius began finding love letters in his books, he suspected that his fourth year was going to be very odd indeed.

At first, he paid no heed to the whispering around him. He was, after all, used to being pointed out for his classic Malfoy features and gossiped about for his notorious family history.

But as the days wore on, he began to realise that the stares and whispers belonged to the more giggly variety. Once in awhile, he would catch groups of first or second years following him when they thought he wasn't paying attention.

To someone who considered himself a bit of a loner, it was all rather disconcerting.

He had always been on the smaller side—Malfoys tended to have the ideal build of a Seeker, his father liked to say—but he'd grown taller and broader over the summer. His cheeks had hollowed out, making his aristocratic profile even more striking. Scorpius often thought that he looked rather severe. His features were cold, and he usually intimidated people before they came to know him. Even so, it seemed that girls were starting to notice.

Perhaps that was why he liked being with Rose, who seemed to draw out his softer side without effort. The thought of her, funnily enough, made Scorpius feel homesick. With the added elective of Alchemy, he hadn't found much time for his best friend in recent weeks.

It was while he was thinking of Rose that a Ravenclaw girl had snuck up on him.

"S-Scorpius?" she stammered.

Scorpius turned. It was Celeste Warnog. He recognised her from Transfiguration, a class his house took with Ravenclaw. She was popular with the boys for her long dark hair and sweet smile, though now she was looking as though she may cry at any given moment.

"Yes," he said, still taken aback.

"Don't freak out, but… I think… I think I love you," Celeste breathed, before bursting into tears. "Oh Merlin, I sound ridiculous. But I've been watching you from afar for some time now…"

Not another one, Scorpius thought wearily, thanking genetics for his poker face.

Yes, it was going to be a very strange year indeed.

* * *

On one of the rare evenings where Needham dismissed him earlier than usual, Scorpius headed towards the North Wing in hopes of seeing Rose. While they sat together in the classes they had together, it didn't offer them much time to talk. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one was following—

"Wot'cher, Malfoy."

Oh, for Merlin's sake. Of all people.

James Potter was in seventh year now, but age had not made him any less insufferable. Scorpius much preferred to limit his interactions with the Potters to just Albus—at least the younger Potter boy had a good head on his shoulders—but James had developed the awful tendency of bumping into him at corridors at the most inopportune moments.

"Potter," Scorpius returned, but instead of continuing on his way, James followed him.

"So," he began.

"Is this important?" Scorpius asked flatly.

"I overheard what happened. In the Library."

Scorpius looked sharply at James. James only shrugged, a sheepish grin on his face. "Look, I didn't mean to eavesdrop. It was just—she was pretty vocal about her feelings. What was her name again? Celeste Warnog?"

Scorpius sighed inwardly. "There wasn't much to overhear, Potter."

" _Au contraire_ , Malfoy. It's actually all very interesting." James folded his arms, regarding Scorpius with a new kind of curiosity. "I'm hearing of all these girls who are following you around, sending you these marvelous love letters—everyone knows they have to win you over with words, what with you being an avid reader—and cornering you in the Library whenever they have the chance. And you've cruelly rejected them all?"

"I wasn't cruel about it," Scorpius said curtly. "I was honest."

"Forgive me for asking, but surely one of them appealed to your delicate sensibilities?"

Scorpius could feel a headache coming on. It was one thing to be confessed to by a girl you knew you had no feelings for, but yet another when people were pestering you for a reason. Especially when that busybody was James Potter. When Scorpius didn't answer, James narrowed his eyes and took a step forward.

"It's not because of Rosie, is it? You two aren't having a thing, are you? Like me and Leanne?"

Leanne Hodges was James' girlfriend, and they had a reputation for obscene displays of affection in public. Scorpius found their entire relationship akin to some sort of grotesque performance art. At present, he only looked at James in the eye, trying to conceal his irritation.

"No."

James nodded, an eyebrow raised. Then—"Well, why not?"

The question threw Scorpius for a loop. If anything, he was expecting James to warn him off Rose, the way he was sure Rose's father would. Instead, James gave him an odd look. "Mate, you sure you two aren't… together?"

Scorpius could feel his face heat up. "We're not like that."

James smirked a little, stepping back.

"If you say so," he said, turning on his heel and going on his merry way.

Scorpius watched him go, feeling a niggle of annoyance. He knew his friendship with Rose wasn't considered the most normal of things, but Rose wasn't an ordinary girl.

At least, not to Scorpius.

Like him, Rose had changed over the summer, gaining a few inches of height. Her hair was longer and wilder than before, and she had lost a bit of her childlike charm, replacing it with what his mother would call a womanly guile. Still, he found her hopelessly endearing. Just the thought of her cheered him up considerably.

As he neared their hiding place, he could hear the muffled sounds of a record playing.

Ah, the Carpenters. For the first time in a week, Scorpius felt a smile on his lips.

"Rose," he called, pushing the door open. And walked right into the path of a humming, dancing redhead. She squeaked as he caught her in his arms to keep her from stumbling.

"Scorpius!" she cried joyfully, throwing her arms around him. "I wasn't expecting you. Did Professor Needham's session end early today?"

"Yeah." He smiled when she clung on to him, swaying a little to the music as she did. Her hair was in a tousled bun as always, barely held together by one of her pencils. She giggled as he swayed with her, her easy manner an instant salve for his frayed nerves.

Merlin, he missed her.

"I'm working on finishing that painting of the Great Lake," Rose said brightly, her chin on his shoulder. "Since I don't get to paint you much lately…"

He thumbed gently at the dry paint on her nose. "Sorry," he murmured. "It's been a long week."

She observed him for a moment before stepping back and holding out her hands to him.

"Well, this is the last dance, Mr Malfoy," she teased. "It's almost curfew."

He set down his book bag, chuckling as he twirled her around. _Now_ he could appreciate the awful state of her tunic, smeared with paint and charcoal stains. They may both be taller now, and Rose certainly had grown prettier in his opinion, but some things never changed.

The room had long become their own; Rose's many canvases, unfinished portraits of Scorpius and paintings of lush landscapes, lined the walls. Scorpius' own books and charts occupied the shelves, his plant samples now sharing space with odd muggle knick-knacks. It was the only place Scorpius felt safe from social politics. With Rose, he could relax completely.

The song ended too soon. Rose shut off the record player and dimmed the candles. They had barely escaped detection when Argus Filch made a surprise appearance back in third year, and were more cautious about their use of the room since. As Scorpius observed the painting Rose was working on, she picked up the book sitting on top of his book bag.

" _Mother Nature Will Make Your Toes Curl_ , by Paracelsus," she mumbled. "Fascinating."

Scorpius glanced at her before looking back at the painting. "Oh, yeah. I just started on it."

"Do you use love letters for bookmarks?"

He blinked, turning around to see Rose's mischievous little grin. She was holding a delicate heart-shaped parchment; it was enchanted to flutter lightly between her fingers. He lunged for it—Rose burst out laughing and moved deftly out of his reach.

"Rose, give it—"

"No." Rose held it behind her, knocking over a few canvases as she took refuge behind the desk. Scorpius was right on her tail, finally cornering her and snatching the offending article from her hands. She was breathless from their game of catch, and Scorpius held her to him to keep her from moving, unfolding the parchment over her head.

"Who sent it?" she asked, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

Scorpius ran his gaze over the letter.

 _Your gaze makes me shiver  
_ _Around you my heart's a-flutter  
_ _Through this bravely-penned letter  
_ _Determine my fate  
_ _Say yes to a date  
_ _In Hogsmeade on the 15_ _th_ _of October—_

"Agatha Fawley." Scorpius frowned a little, trying to put the name to a face. He had no recollection of her. "Do you know her?"

"Mmhmm. She's a third year Hufflepuff. I've seen her in the common room. We never actually talked, though." Rose wiggled against him, trying to break free from his embrace. "Can I see?"

Scorpius held her even tighter. "No."

"Hmmpf." Rose stilled in his arms, her fingers curling into his robes. "She's quite pretty."

"Is she?"

"Yeah. You could consider dating her. It would be nice. Although…"

He looked down at her to see her blue eyes peeking up at him. "Although what?"

"I was just thinking if you got yourself a girlfriend, I'll see you even less."

Scorpius crumpled the parchment in his fist, resting his cheek in her hair. "Rose."

"Hmm?"

"I missed you, you know."

He could hear the smile in her voice. "Look for me more often, then."

He pulled away gently to see her eyes crinkling in the dim light, and he couldn't help the fondness he felt blooming in his chest.

"Hogsmeade on the 15th?" he said.

Her eyes lit up. "Ooh! That's when Honeydukes is releasing the limited edition cinnamon sugar quills—"

He laughed. "We'll get you some." He took her hand. "I'll walk you back. Come on."

They were past curfew, and took special care to be quiet on their way out of the North Wing. Rose led them towards the kitchens, where the Hufflepuff common room was located. She had her shoes in one hand, and his hand in the other. He couldn't help but study the way the moonlight seemed to glow in her red hair as they walked. He followed her into the basement, bumping gently into her back as she paused by end of the stairs across from the common room entrance.

"Oh bugger," Rose muttered.

Scorpius craned his neck to see James Potter and Leanne Hodges making out by the stack of barrels guarding the Hufflepuff entry. It was absolutely sickening, yet Scorpius wasn't overly surprised by the display. Rose groaned inwardly at the scene, giving Scorpius a pained look. He pulled Rose behind a stack of crates as James and Leanne continued to express their stomach-turning affections.

"Goodnight, my sun and stars," James simpered.

"Oh, Jamsie! I'll dream of you…"

By now, Rose had her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. "Oh, they are _awful_. Albus would go blind if he saw this."

They waited a few more minutes, then they heard the barrels give way to Leanne. James said his goodbyes and finally left the scene, humming chirpily as he went.

Rose's shoulders were still shaking from mirth, and she had to bury her face in Scorpius' shoulder to keep from making a sound. It took her a few minutes to calm down.

"Thanks for walking me back," she whispered, smiling up at him.

Scorpius leaned in and kissed her forehead.

"Goodnight, my sun and stars," he said, keeping a straight face.

Rose punched his arm, now teary-eyed from laughter. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before tapping the barrels. The entrance opened up, and she stepped in.

"I'll dream of you," she said cheekily, as the barrels closed between them.


	5. Sherbet Lemon

_Thank you for the reviews! They're wonderfully encouraging._

* * *

 **Fifth year: Sherbet Lemon**

His first kiss was with Harriet Batworthy, a vivacious girl from Gryffindor, and one of Albus' close friends. She embodied the classic qualities of her house—daring, confident, and reckless, with a penchant for theatrics. Perhaps that was why she skipped the love letters and went straight for the kill. Harriet caught his arm one evening, when he was on his way out of the library, and dragged him to a darkened corner of the hallway. Then she gave him a coy little smile, and planted her lips on his.

To Scorpius, the whole thing happened too quickly to make any sort of impression. It was only after that encounter that he realised he had always imagined his first kiss to be a little less inane. Harriet was good-looking and spunky, generous with her physical affection—yet, unlike Rose, there was none of that dreamy charm in the way she looked at him, or took his hand, or even ran her fingers through his hair. It all left him rather cold.

Despite his caution, Scorpius didn't say no the next few times that Harriet pulled him into empty classrooms. After all, he was of a scientific mind, and he was, frankly, boyishly curious. He figured he didn't particularly _mind_ kissing Harriet.

Tonight, Harriet instantly pounced on him at the shut of the door, eagerly pressing against him for the snog. She was on the Quidditch team, and boasted a strong and supple physique. Most boys considered her to be quite a catch. She wasn't exactly tall, but Scorpius caught himself wishing she was just slightly shorter. Her hair, too, was silkier than he wanted it to be. As they kissed, his mind wandered more than his hands.

They barely talked in these secret meetings. So it surprised Scorpius when she pulled away suddenly, breathing hard—

"Are you thinking about someone else?"

Scorpius raised an eyebrow at her, and Harriet surveyed him suspiciously.

"What makes you say that?"

"You always seem so distant." Harriet loosened his tie, running a hand up his chest. "Albus was right. He told me you aren't the sort to be swept away." She smirked at him. "Lucky for you, I like a challenge."

Scorpius said nothing, merely taking Harriet's hand in his. He observed her fingers, running his own across her long and slender digits. Her hands were coarse against his touch, perhaps due to playing Quidditch, her skin tanned and blank of paint. Harriet was watching him, entranced and slightly breathless, her eyes lowered in anticipation. Scorpius smiled inwardly, and dropped her hand.

"I'm done tonight."

* * *

Of late, Rose had started to spend more time with Analise Baker and Jordan Paulus, good-natured Hufflepuff girls who shared her dorm. It was OWLs year, and with Scorpius tied up with extra classes and the random rendezvous with Harriet, Rose spent most of her studying time with Analise and Jordan. Scorpius saw them together occasionally, cracking jokes and linking arms as they moved between classes. In a way, he was glad for her. Rose was rather like him, a loner by nature, and her less conventional outlook had left her out of most social circles in their younger years. She appeared to genuinely treasure the newfound company of her girlfriends.

Analise was a Muggle-born, with doe eyes and wispy chestnut-coloured hair that she pulled back with her vast collection of hair clips. Scorpius noticed she liked to smile, and always said hello to him in the hallways. Jordan, on the other hand, was dark-haired and slender. She was the chatty one of the lot, and thrived in social settings of any sort. Lately, when he peeked into Rose's sketchbook, he would see fresh drawings of both Analise and Jordan—their laughing expressions, facial profiles, even the odd trinkets they liked to wear.

For a time, he was jealous that Rose split her attention between him and the girls, but the room in the North Wing remained their little secret.

That evening, it was snowing outside and too cold for a walk. The Carpenters echoed off the walls as Rose painted, humming as she went. She was in one of her productive moods, and Scorpius didn't mind sitting for her while he studied. This time, he was sprawled across the old upholstered sofa, propped up against a few pillows, going through one of his texts—or trying to.

Once in awhile, he glanced up from his reading to see Rose working intently at her canvas, fingernails caked with dried paint, with some of it smeared lightly across her cheek. She was a sight, really. Scorpius could only imagine what his mother would say if he looked anything like that. Rose seemed absolutely absorbed in her work, her eyes meeting his briefly as she painted. There was intensity in her movements with the paintbrush, a focus that matched her gaze. She could make a ghost blush with that kind of attention.

Scorpius looked back at his text. The words seemed to swirl incoherently before him, and he found his eyes trailing back to Rose, noting the dastardly way she was absently licking her lips as she worked.

It was driving him to distraction. Studying her was becoming far more fascinating to him than deciphering the intelligence of the Bleeding Tooth plant.

Tonight, her hair wasn't pulled into a bun with a pencil, instead held back by an adorably casual French braid. He found himself observing her for a long moment. Were her eyelashes always that long, her lips always that red?

The changes in Rose were subtle from the young girl he used to know; he found her lovelier than ever. And he knew he wasn't the only one to think so.

Perhaps it was Analise and Jordan's influence. The braid. The eyelashes. The oddly alluring lip colour. And the rather annoying fact that boys were starting to look at Rose more often. Even Tarquin Zabini, who once dismissed Rose as weird, now thought her to be _quirky_. As boys got to know Rose better, they seemed to find her oddness as charming as Scorpius did.

Absently, Scorpius wondered how Rose felt whenever he got attention from girls.

 _He_ wasn't sure what he felt about boys noticing her.

Rose's voice jolted him out of his reverie. "Scorpius. Do you need a break?"

Scorpius set down his book, shifting his long legs and leaning over to steal a look at her painting. "Aren't you tired of painting me, anyway?"

"Never," Rose said, flashing him a little smile before surveying her work. "I need more time to finish this... you'll have to sit for me again tomorrow, if that's okay?" She took a step back, tapping her chin. "It's coming along nicely."

"As long as you don't paint me wearing anything remotely yellow."

"Nothing wrong with the colour of Hufflepuffs," Rose protested. "And yellow is the colour of Sherbet Lemon! Certainly the happiest thing on earth."

"Can I have one?"

"No, I'm down to my last—"

Before she finished her sentence, Scorpius had swiped the Sherbet Lemon deftly from her palm, popping the sweet into his mouth. Rose shrieked, pushing him down against the sofa and shaking him by the shoulders. " _Scorpius_! You know I won't have any till my mum owls me, I'm going to _die_ —"

Scorpius laughed, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her onto the sofa. She squeaked, cornered against the upholstery as he wrapped his arms around her. She jabbed him in the stomach, genuinely devastated at the loss of her favourite sweet. The Sherbet Lemon fizzled on his tongue, the sourness making him scrunch up his face. Rose stuck out her tongue at him.

They sat like this for a long moment, the Carpenters crooning softly in the background. Scorpius rested his chin on her shoulder, a wisp of her red hair tickling his nose.

"Your hair," he said suddenly. "It's pretty."

Rose huffed in disbelief. "Scorpius. That's not going to make me forgive you."

Yet the tips of her ears were turning delightfully pink. Scorpius smiled to himself, unable to resist teasing her.

"Your eyelashes are pretty, too," he whispered in her ear.

"Stop looking."

"Why? You always look at me."

"I draw you. I'm entitled to look at you." Rose glanced at him, trying not to smile. " _You_ have no reason to look at me so closely."

"I did say you're pretty. Twice. That's reason enough for most people."

Rose tilted her head slightly, as though reminded of something. "Did I tell you? Callum asked me out."

Scorpius arched an eyebrow, trying to recall a person of the name; he had a notoriously bad memory for faces. Rose giggled, rubbing out the knot between his eyes with the tip of her finger. "I know you don't remember who he is," she teased. "Callum Sacks. He's my partner in Herbology."

At this information, a strangely uncomfortable sensation filled his chest, similar to the jealousy he felt when Rose began to spend more of her time with Analise and Jordan. While Scorpius had come to like Rose's friends, the thought of her with another boy—on a _date_ —was incomprehensible to him. He suddenly felt overly warm, as though someone had just lit a fire in the room. "When did he ask you?"

"Well, after class, he walked with me and told me he thought my hair was pretty." There was a vague amusement in her voice. "Then he asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him."

Blue eyes met grey. "What did you say?"

"I told him I'd think about it. I _was_ going to say yes. But then you stole my last Sherbet Lemon, and now you have to make up for it by buying me sugar quills—"

"Go to Hogsmeade with me," Scorpius cut in. "And I'll buy you all the sugar quills you want."

The corner of her lips quirked upwards. "I suppose I can't say no to that."

"I think it's me you can't say no to."

Rose didn't correct him, only looked away and tried not to smile. Scorpius, on the other hand, didn't bother to hide his grin.

* * *

Scorpius had just exited the library a few afternoons later when Harriet finally found him.

He had been deep in thought over the advancements he and Professor Needham had made with the essence of White Willow, and feeling jumpy over the fact that they were close to finding the means to store it. Their success would have great influence over the cure of Newtpox and a number of other diseases.

Thoughts of completing his first project consumed him; he barely noticed when Harriet got a hold of him in the middle of the hallway. They hadn't had their nighttime meetings for a while, and Harriet was understandably upset. It wasn't that Scorpius was avoiding her; he simply hadn't felt compelled to see her. Now, as she stared him down, red-faced and furious, he decided the initial curiosity he had about snogging had run out.

"What do you mean, you can't go to Hogsmeade?" Harriet was saying, fists clenched. "After all we've done, you won't even go on a date with me? You can't be bloody serious, Scorpius Malfoy."

"I'm going to Hogsmeade with Rose," he said plainly, as though that settled the matter.

"So cancel," Harriet said angrily. "She's your friend, she'll understand. You can go with her next time. I'll get Albus to go with her or something—"

"I'm sorry." And he genuinely meant it. "But I'm going with Rose."

The finality in his voice seemed to enrage Harriet even more, and for a moment he was convinced she was going to hex him. Then, her gaze fell on something over Scorpius' shoulder, and she exhaled sharply. "Weasley," she said.

Scorpius turned to see Rose was standing behind him, hugging her large sketchbook to her chest; it seemed that she had just left the library. She looked apologetic about stumbling upon them, though Scorpius figured someone eventually would have. After all, Harriet was giving him a go right in the middle of the hallway.

"Hey," Rose said cautiously. "What's going on?"

Harriet folded her arms. "Oh, we were just having a chat," she said venomously. "Your _friend_ was supposed to go to Hogsmeade with me, but he says he can't make it because he's going with _you_."

Rose's eyes widened slightly, and she glanced at Scorpius, her eyebrows knotting from confusion. "Oh—I didn't know—you can always buy me the sugar quills another time, Scorpius."

Harriet glared at Scorpius. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Scorpius said nothing, only grabbed Rose's hand and pulled her with him as he turned and stalked down the hallway.

"Hey! We're not done here!" Harriet yelled, but he ignored her. Rose struggled to keep pace with his long strides, her sketchbook heavy in her arm as he tugged her along.

"Scorpius!" she protested breathlessly, as they headed towards the open grounds. "Not so fast— _wait_ —"

He was fed up and shaking, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the chill in the air, Harriet's outburst, or the fact that Rose was subject to the whole thing. He stopped in his tracks, and Rose bumped into his back, dropping her sketchbook and pencils in the snow. Scorpius bent over and picked them up. Rose reached out to take her sketchbook from him; Scorpius shook his head.

"It's heavy," he said quietly. "I'll hold it for you."

Rose nodded slowly, uncertainty in her eyes as his fingers curled into hers once more. They walked in silence as the sun set across the Great Lake, until Scorpius paused at the edge of the frozen water. Rose was trembling from the cold, her nose pink and breaths white. Wordlessly, Scorpius set down his book bag, murmuring a warming charm over the spot beneath them. He plopped himself down, and pulled her down to sit with him.

Rose was still catching her breath behind her black and yellow scarf. Scorpius took her hand in his own, observing her paint-stained fingers before reaching for his wand. Rose tended not to notice or mind the marks left on her hands by her paint and charcoal work, so Scorpius took it upon himself to perform the cleaning spell for her once in awhile. He had been doing it for her since fourth year, and it had become a comforting habit for him—something that helped take his mind off things. It was a long moment before Rose spoke up.

"Scorpius," she began tentatively, "she's right, you know. We can do Hogsmeade another time. I can always go with someone else—"

"You're not going with Callum Sacks," he corrected gently, murmuring _tergeo_ under his breath to remove paint on the back of her hand.

"Scorpius—"

His voice was firm. "You're going with me."

If she was taken aback by his curt replies, she didn't show it. Rose watched him thoughtfully before prodding on, her tone careful and measured. "Harriet Batworthy, right? Albus talked about her before." A pause. "Don't you like her?"

Scorpius glanced up at Rose. She was waiting earnestly for his answer. He sighed and looked back at her hand.

"You can tell how important someone is by a kiss," he said evenly. " _Tergeo_."

"A kiss?"

"That's how I knew she wasn't important."

"Oh." Rose paused, as though considering what he said. "Did she… kiss you first?"

"Yeah."

"Oh," she said again, somewhat faintly. She seemed vaguely troubled by this revelation. "Well. I can understand why girls think you're lovely, Scorpius."

A wry smile curved up his lips. "The way you think I'm lovely?"

She bit her lip, somewhat embarrassed. "You know how I feel about you."

"Do I? Maybe you should tell me again."

She blushed, not meeting his eyes. "What was it like? Kissing her?"

Scorpius thought about it. He recalled Harriet's face close to his, her skin flawlessly smooth and her eyelashes fluttering, her roaming hands eager and quick. Every time Harriet kissed him, he couldn't stop thinking of the hopeless splatter of freckles and crinkling blue eyes, or the warm touch of gentle paint-stained hands.

And those pretty rosebud lips, so often pulled into a smile whenever he was around her.

"Kissing her made me think of you," he admitted quietly.

Rose blinked at him, astonishment filling her expression. Before them, the sun was setting over the lake, streaks of purple and red illuminating the darkening sky and reflecting upon the ice. Scorpius took a deep breath before turning back to Rose.

"I've done my research," he said at last. "Across time, artists always found ways to express affection for their muses. Manet gifted Berthe Morisot with a bouquet of tenderly painted violets. Dali went one step further, and gave Gala a castle. From you, I'll accept a kiss."

Rose was quiet for a moment, barely able to conceal the bewilderment she was feeling. "Why would you want to kiss me?"

"Why wouldn't I want to kiss you?" Scorpius asked softly, his gaze never leaving hers. "You're adorable."

Rose went scarlet. He reached forward to thumb the dry paint off her cheek; her skin was hot under his touch. It was as though he was under a spell; he couldn't stop looking at her. His heart was loud in his ears. Scorpius felt desperately afraid, yet there was something rather hopeful stirring in his chest.

The fading sunlight flirted with the red in her hair, and as always, he was mesmerised.

"You have gold in your hair," he whispered.

Rose looked puzzled, her hand reaching into her bun. A hum of laughter bubbled in his chest, her reaction endearing to him as always. He caught her wrist, the contact of their skin suddenly raising goosebumps against the pins and needles of the cold. He almost didn't notice how close they were until this very moment, when his nose brushed against hers. Was it strange that he had always known exactly which one of her freckles was his favourite? The air was charged between them, magical and alive. Scorpius forgot to breathe. He was too busy finding her beautiful.

Rose looked up, lips slightly parted in question.

He leaned in and kissed her then, sweet and quiet, exactly the way she made him feel about her. The world seemed almost to lapse into silence, the warmth of her closeness enveloping him and locking out the unforgiving cold. Kissing her felt almost familiar, as though he dreamed of it before.

He probably had.

Then, when she kissed him back, shy and tender, Scorpius' mind went pleasantly blank.

For the first time, he could think of nothing else.

Rose's eyes were hooded when he finally pulled away, her freckles more pronounced with her blush. Nothing he felt about her had changed—it was still Rose his heart fluttered for, perhaps once a quiet, sleepy butterfly cocooned within him that had now awoken, louder and clearer than ever. His feelings hummed in his ears and fluttered in his chest, vivid and wild and demanding to be heard.

As they looked at each other, their breaths white and warm between them, she didn't say a word, only gazed at him like she was seeing him for the first time. Scorpius felt his heart still when she smiled at last, her fingers curling gently into his as they did so many times before.

Then, almost in a dreamy sort of wonder, she whispered, "Can we do it again?"

He didn't need to be asked twice.


	6. White Willow

_Guys, thank you so much for the reviews! This is a bit of a monster chapter, I enjoyed writing this one. Do let me know what you think._

* * *

 **Sixth year: White Willow**

The moment he got the news, he was hurtling across hallways, pushing past a bewildered body of students and looking most unlike his composed, immaculate self. A few second years stumbled to get out of his way, and the Slytherin Quidditch team watched in amazement as he sped right past them, quite as though there was a Bludger on his tail. "Malfoy, no running in the halls!" blubbered Professor Flitwick crossly, but his words fell upon deaf ears—Scorpius had already disappeared around the corner.

When he finally burst through the door of the room in the North Wing, his usually neat blond hair was tousled, and his pale cheeks were pink from the mad scramble through the hallways. Rose looked up from her palette at his abrupt entrance, eyes wide, and barely got a word in before he strode quickly over to her, the sheer exuberance of his embrace almost knocking over her canvas.

"Scorpius," Rose began, alarm in her voice, only to be cut off by a kiss.

Just as quickly, he pulled away, his grey eyes glazed over as he cradled Rose's face in his hands.

"We've done it! It's getting shipped off to the States, Slughorn's tested the recipe, it's safe for use—"

"What?"

"The essence of White Willow, it's finally behaved in our trial, we could cure someone of Newtpox by the end of the _week_ —"

Realisation dawned on Rose then, and her eyes lit up with amazement. "Merlin, Scorpius," she breathed, "that's brilliant!"

"It took so bloody long because we've had to wait to pick the calmest flower from the Hedgewog, in absolutely perfect conditions—ripe under moonlight in the very heart of winter—we finally met the requirements!" Scorpius finally stopped to breathe, breaking into the brightest of smiles. "I ran here as soon as I knew—"

"Ah, to witness once more the passions of hot-blooded youth!"

Scorpius blinked, turning to the source of the booming, wry voice. Seated within a small portrait by the dusty piano was a dignified man in a velvet cloak. He was peering at them through his monocle, lips pursed disapprovingly under his thin moustache.

"Rose," Scorpius managed, forgetting his elation for a moment. "You stole Sir Dorrett?"

Rose looked back guiltily at Scorpius. "I didn't _steal_ him," she protested. "I just borrowed him, is all. He was painted by Renoir, so he can probably recall some of his methods in moving portraiture. Renoir never recorded any of it." She frowned. "Honestly, you'd think all these renowned artists cared a bit more about the education of magical art—"

"It's an interrogation, that's what it is!" cried Sir Dorrett. "What have I come to, to ask the Malfoy for mercy? Your lady friend asks too many questions, boy."

"It's for _research,_ Sir Dorrett. I'm only keeping you for a few days, I promise. Now, if you could give us a little privacy."

Sir Dorrett threw up his hands, exasperated. "Kidnapped by the girl, only to be chased away! I'll rent a spot in Sir Cadogen's. I'm no sexual deviant, I'll have you know!"

At Sir Dorrett's exit, Rose closed in on Scorpius, her bare toes stepping gently on the tips of his oxford shoes. She reached up to press a shy little kiss in the corner of his lips.

"I'm so proud of you," she whispered. "You deserve this."

He ran his gaze over her prettily freckled face, and a slow smile quirked into his lips. "I still can't believe it."

" _I_ do. You worked so hard. It was only a matter of time."

Scorpius wrapped his arms around her. "What are you painting?" he murmured, kissing her hair. "Can it wait?"

"It's one of yours." She bit back a smile. "Though I _suppose_ I could pay a little attention to the real thing."

Scorpius couldn't resist a playful grin as he backed her against the wall, a wicked glint in his eye. "So I can kiss you all night?"

Her expression softened. "Scorpius," she whispered, so quietly he almost missed it. The way she said his name, so affectionate and tender, brought a feverish warmth to his cheeks. An odd sort of ache clutched in his chest, as though his heart was trying to contain the happiness threatening to escape him.

Their lips met, kisses gentle and slow at first. It was curious, how often they did this since fifth year, and yet Rose still blushed each time as though it was their first. It was adorable and he loved it. She was delicate in his arms, pliant under his touch. He had her pressed to the wall even as she pulled him against her, an all-consuming heat growing between them as their kisses deepened. Her hands fisted into his robes, her shyness giving way to an urgency that made him breathless. He ran his fingers through her hair; the pencil came undone from her bun, slipping through the strands and hitting the floor.

Sir Dorrett never returned to his portrait that night. Or perhaps he did, but showed himself out before they could notice.

* * *

"Oh-ho. You two are _definitely_ dating."

Scorpius looked up from his essay to see Albus was standing over him, grinning from ear to ear. Albus took a seat beside him, ignoring the Slytherins staring from across the table at his sudden appearance.

"Hey, Albus," he said distractedly, marking out a line on his parchment. Recently, Albus had taken to talking to him more, possibly because he was nursing the silliest of crushes on Harriet Batworthy. For some reason, he seemed to think Scorpius knew the secret to winning her over.

Of course, Scorpius didn't, but Albus didn't let that deter him.

"So it's true, then. You're dating Rose? I can't be wrong, I've got a sixth sense about these things."

"We're not dating," Scorpius corrected. He considered _dating_ to be too frivolous for what he had with Rose. Somehow, he had grown to associate the term with the sort of public displays James Potter and Leanne Hodges were inclined towards.

What he had with Rose was between them, and absolutely not to be shared.

Albus snorted, as though reading Scorpius' mind. "Dating, married—call it what you want, mate. Seriously, have you seen Rose?" He lowered his voice. "These days, all I have to do is mention your name and her pencils are all over the floor. It's ridiculous, I'm telling you." He nodded at Zabini a few seats down. "Yo, Zab. Pass the potatoes. And is that the strategy for the match you're going to lose?"

Zabini looked up from his game plan and gave Albus a withering stare. "Talk to me again after I've wiped the pitch with your face, Potter."

As Zabini and Albus got caught up in banter over the upcoming Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match, Scorpius rested his cheek in his hand, spotting Rose at the Hufflepuff table. She had a sugar quill between her lips as Analise spoke animatedly before her, their conversation sending Jordan into a fit of laughter.

When Rose met his eyes, the noise in the Great Hall seemed to drown out in his ears.

It was puzzling. They'd looked at each other for years, just like this, and every glance always ended with a wave or a smile. Today it lingered. He couldn't take his eyes off her. The heady memory of the night before returned to him in breathtaking snatches—the warmth of her body against his, the softness of her lips, and the lovely depth of blue in her eyes after every kiss. As Rose's gaze rested on his, she looked almost as lost as he felt, as though they were both caught in a daydream the rest of the world had no part in.

The spell was broken when Jordan elbowed Rose gently to get her attention. Rose finally looked away from Scorpius, a light blush colouring her cheeks.

" _So_ married," Albus whispered, jolting Scorpius out of his reverie. With a mischievous grin, Albus got to his feet, clapping him on the shoulder before he left the Slytherin table.

* * *

The next few weeks became unbearably busy for Scorpius.

Buoyed by their recent success, Professor Needham's enthusiasm had embarked them both on a new project—finding the right components to repair the disfigurement caused by werewolf bites. Being a contributor to the Wolfsbane potion, Needham was passionate about the plight of both werewolves and their victims. At present, no spell or salve could undo the cursed nature of scratch wounds from a werewolf attack, leaving victims disfigured for the rest of their lives.

Needham assigned Scorpius to researching particularly vicious plants—"Perhaps the more capricious, the more resilient in its fight against a cursed wound," he said in one of their meetings, "though, of course, we cannot exclude the possibility that other plants—less temperamental, more kind—may possess the enduring sentiments to break a curse like that. Present a shortlist to me, Scorpius, and we'll begin tests."

Scorpius remembered Rose mentioning her uncle Bill Weasley, and how he was wounded in a fight with Fenrir Greyback. He himself had seen the man in the society pages; it was impossible not to notice the stark contrast of Bill Weasley's grotesque features against the breathtaking beauty of his wife, Fleur. _The Beauty and the Beast_ , the papers often called them. Rose had always been troubled by the media's unnecessary cruelty about her uncle's predicament.

"Though none of this should matter. Aunt Fleur loves and accepts him completely," he remembered her saying. "When she stands by him, she makes him look almost dashing, you know? Still, it can't be easy for him to hear people talking about him like that."

With Rose's words in mind, Scorpius holed himself up in Needham's study, losing himself to his research in his spare time. When he did see Rose the next few days, it was in class. But, as always, she understood his plight, and left him well alone.

A good part of the month went by before Scorpius got Needham's approval on his shortlist, and he immediately set out to look for Rose. When he headed to their hiding place the next few evenings, she was conspicuously missing. He tried to get a hold of her after several classes, but even then, she managed to slip away—she always seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere else. It was absolutely baffling. If Scorpius didn't know any better, he would have thought Rose to be avoiding him.

When Scorpius finally caught her arm after one Charms class, she seemed almost taken aback at the sight of him.

"Scorpius," Rose said, startled. "Hey. How's the research going?"

"It's finished for the moment. Listen, do you want to—"

But then Analise popped up beside them, and Rose flashed Scorpius a quick smile. "I'll see you in a bit, Scorpius—got to return a book at the library."

Before he could say a word, she hurried off. Scorpius watched her go, confused. Analise tapped his shoulder, and he turned to see her smiling up at him. "Hey Scorpius. Going for lunch?"

Scorpius had no clear answer; he was still puzzled over Rose's behavior. To Analise, he said, "I suppose so."

"I'll walk with you, if that's alright?" Analise's face had lit up, and her cheeks turning slightly pink. "Rose was telling me about that new project you're working on, with Professor Needham? It sounds exciting."

"Oh, yeah…"

They made small talk all the way to the Great Hall. When Analise bid goodbye and headed off to the Hufflepuff table, Scorpius wasn't surprised to see Rose already there with Jordan. As he sat down, he tried to catch her eye. Rose did not look at him once.

* * *

For Scorpius, Rose's unusual behavior was cause for some study. He tried to recall if he did anything wrong, yet he couldn't figure out the reason he might have upset her. Albus, too, provided no clues. "Sorry, mate. She hasn't mentioned anything," Albus said sympathetically, on their way to Herbology. "Maybe you should talk to her?"

He would, if he could just get to her. Rose had not turned up at the North Wing for a week; the room was lifeless and empty without her sunny presence, dancing and humming to the Carpenters as she painted. Scorpius began to dread opening the door and not seeing her there.

He missed her desperately.

That afternoon, Rose sat beside him in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, yet the distance between them felt a world apart. Scorpius nudged her gently; Rose looked at him, her blue eyes oddly impassive. He studied her face, trying to unravel what had changed between them the past few weeks.

"Can we talk?" he whispered. "After class."

For a moment, Rose seemed to soften. She nodded at him, giving him the smallest of smiles. Scorpius took a deep breath, somewhat relieved, and turned back to the blackboard.

When class let out, he moved to take her hand as he always did, but Rose pulled away, not meeting his eyes. "I'll see you at the North Wing," she said, before leaving the class. Before he could catch up to her, Analise was by his side once more, tugging gently at his sleeve.

"Hey, Scorpius—a word, please?"

Scorpius turned to Analise, trying to conceal his impatience. Analise seemed almost flustered to get his full attention; her cheeks reddened, and she seemed breathless. The butterfly clips in her hair fluttered as she spoke. "Listen, um. I was wondering. Would you like to go to Hogsmeade together?"

"I always go with Rose," he said, without thinking.

There was a faint surprise in Analise's eyes. "Oh. She said she was going with Brock McLaggen—that's why I asked. She didn't tell you?"

Scorpius stared at her, completely perplexed. "Really."

"Scorpius, wait—"

But Scorpius had left the classroom, stalking down the corridors towards the North Wing.

His stomach was churning from something that resembled rage. He felt as though he had swallowed a handful of pins, and now they were ravaging within him and cutting him apart. His thoughts were a mess in his head. Without understanding the problem, he had no chance of fixing it. Something was up, and he intended to know what it was.

This time, he did find Rose in the North Wing, sitting across a blank canvas with a pensive expression on her face. She started when she heard his footsteps, and slowly got to her feet.

There were no paint marks on her hands.

Her usually bright blue eyes were clouded over, as though she was looking right past him and seeing something else completely. Scorpius was not accustomed to seeing this side of her—everything that happened the past hour reeked of a blatant dishonesty that was inconsistent with all the qualities he treasured in her.

Wordlessly, Scorpius strode right over to her sketchbook and picked it up, flipping roughly past the sketches Rose had made of him. The sketchbook, after all, was her heart. If Rose wouldn't tell him what the matter was, he would look for it himself.

"Scorpius," Rose protested, but it was too late—Scorpius had found the page he wanted.

"This is it, then?" he said coldly, holding up the sketch of Brock McLaggen, the bile burning in his throat. "You sketching McLaggen now, Rose? Shall we invite him over? Share the sofa?"

He flung her sketchbook onto the floor. It landed with a thud, a crumpled mess between them.

"What are you playing at?" he hissed. Despite his confusion, it was jealousy that surged through him; he had never felt so furious in his life.

Rose closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Scorpius, he asked me, alright? Aren't you going with Analise? She asked you, didn't she?"

He stared at her, incredulous. "You put her up to it?"

"Scorpius. Please listen to me." Rose stepped forward, her fingers curling into his sleeves. "Analise told me. She really likes you."

"That's why you've been avoiding me?" He couldn't conceal his disbelief. "Because your friend has a crush on me? She doesn't even know me."

"She's serious about you." Rose bit her lip, her eyes softening. "She's wonderful, if you'd just give her a chance—"

Rose never got to finish, because Scorpius had pulled her to him and cut her off with a heated kiss. She balked, her hands fisted against his chest. "Scorpius, I can't. She's my _friend_ —"

"And what am I to you?"

"We're best friends." She trembled slightly in his embrace. "We've always been best friends."

"Just that?" He leaned in to kiss her jawline. "Just best friends?" Another kiss, at the corner of her mouth. "Tell me again that's all we are."

"Don't," Rose said, lowering her head. "If I'd known she had feelings for you, I never would have… Please, Scorpius. Can't we go back to the way we were?"

"The way we were? I don't even remember what that is." Scorpius held her face in his hands. "What do you want from me? Flowers? Love letters? What can I do, Rose?"

"Scorpius," she said softly. And she was doing it again—saying his name with a tenderness that made him feel like he meant the world to her. He looked at her sweet, open face and he was infatuated all over again. That was what she did to him even without trying—confiscated his capacity for reason, and patched it up with dreams. It was why he loved her. Just like that, his anger melted away, slowly replaced by a painful hollowness that felt all too heavy.

Why did it feel like his heart was breaking?

"It's you I want," he said quietly, "and I'll tell Analise if you won't."

"No. Scorpius. Please don't. I love her." The last of her defenses had fallen away, and Rose looked almost frightened as she clutched at his robes, her eyes filling with tears. "I never had friends like her or Jordan. Like _you._ Everyone's made fun of me my whole life. You and Analise mean everything to me. If you break her heart, it'll be all my fault, and I can't bear it. And if it means we have to go back to the way we were—"

"You don't get to decide how I feel."

"No. But this is how I feel." She swallowed. "This is _fair_ , Scorpius. Don't you see? When she talks about you, her face lights up—I can't take that away from her. She adores you, she's liked you for years. I can't do this with you, not when I know her feelings." Her tears had spilled over now. "All I'm asking is for you to give her a chance. _Please_ —for my sake."

It was her tender heart that spoke for her, the one that would rather love than fight, that placed her loyalty above her own dreams. Her kindness was killing him, a gentle knife that twisted within him, slow and cruel. He had always been selfish about her, but Rose never was about him; perhaps she never would be. It was simply not in her.

Scorpius closed his eyes.

"You have all of me, or you have none of me," he said at last. "You don't get to pick and choose. I won't give myself to you in pieces. I'll ask you again."

"I don't want this," Rose said, her voice shaking. "I can't."

He needed to leave. He couldn't—he _couldn't_ be around her any longer, not if she didn't want him the way he wanted her. His hands felt numb, a stark contrast to the chaos inside him. For the first time, he couldn't bear for her to touch him. Scorpius turned to go, but Rose caught his arm, her face buried in his shoulder, her tears soaking into the fabric of his robes.

Even through blurred eyes, the truth became clear: he couldn't bring himself to resent her. This was the girl who moved him the moment they locked eyes one November day, six years ago. He still remembered the gold in her hair. The way she smiled. And how she warmed his heart until his feelings for her were set aflame. He had never looked at anyone else.

If he remained beside her like this, he was going to kiss her whether she liked it or not.

"I can't be near you right now," he said hoarsely.

He pulled away from her hold, and left.


	7. Violets

_I am so sorry for the wait! This is a monster chapter of sorts. Also, the story's not done yet; one or two more chapters to go. Do review this and let me know what you think. :) Thanks._

* * *

 **Seventh year I: Violets**

Scorpius was brought up to make a habit of good manners, yet he found himself impatient with decorum as he grew older. Niceties hindered passion, a mere invention to fill empty spaces and hollow conversations.

It was for this exact reason that good manners returned to Scorpius when he went out with Analise Baker. They'd been on several dates since the end of sixth year. Not because he wanted to; he just never said no. He was faultless with her, asking the right questions, making timely comments, and pulling out her chair at The Three Broomsticks.

He was the perfect gentleman. Or so he would have Analise believe.

Once alone, the cloak of propriety peeled away, leaving behind a young man nursing the most potent of heartaches. He missed his best friend deeply, aching for the thoughtless ease of silly conversations, interspersed by silences that spoke louder than words. Despite Analise, or perhaps _because_ of Analise, Rose was not gone completely from him. She stuck around with alarming normalcy, saying hello and offering a tentative smile between classes, even sometimes sitting with him and Analise in the library.

Scorpius couldn't bear it, the burden of being merely _polite_ with Rose Weasley.

Rose and Scorpius' general reticence had assured anonymity for their troubling fallout in sixth year. As far as everyone was concerned, they were still friends, two somewhat strange creatures that dissolved into the crowd. The world marched on, oblivious to his misery.

They rarely had a private moment now, he and Rose—perhaps it was her doing, her careful meddling, to give them both the space they required to contain their feelings. They never brought up that evening again, their last kiss as anonymous as the classroom in the North Wing. Scorpius couldn't bring himself to go back there, not without Rose's hand in his. Instead, it was Analise who clung on to him now, her hopeful affections bubbling to the surface every time he so much as looked at her. He couldn't miss the excitable way she spoke to Jordan and Rose about him at the Great Hall, her giggles infectious and giddy as she stole glances in his direction.

If nothing else, Rose was right about her friend. Analise had a sunny disposition, and was equally versed in music and Quidditch—the sort of girl that most boys would be happy to date. She had a penchant for lip gloss, and hair clips that ranged from delicate to absurd. She had a genuine likeability about her, and yet she failed to capture his imagination. Scorpius' feelings for her, if any, were ruled by reason. She was cute, she was nice, she was good company—all perfectly _reasonable_ qualities. When Analise smiled at him, his heart did not stir.

With Rose, it was a different story. Just the sight of her caused him to be possessed by something utterly senseless. It drove him mad to see her walking with Brock McLaggen; he hated the sight of them together, and the idea that Rose might see a muse in someone other than himself made him unbearably jealous for days. She brought to fore a sort of chaos he had never known existed within him, at odds with the reticence that suited him.

Scorpius was heartbroken. And he had no clue what he could do about it.

* * *

"My god, quit _moping_ already."

Scorpius raised an eyebrow at the mugglespeak. Albus Potter loomed over him with a look of disapproval. They hadn't spoken for awhile, not since seventh-year classes gave way to study sessions. Scorpius spent most of those alone.

Beside Albus was a gangly, freckled boy wearing a grumpy expression—Hugo Weasley. Rose had excitedly introduced him to her brother a few years ago, back in his first year when he was awkward and shy. They had never become friends, but Hugo remained largely cordial with Scorpius, perhaps out of respect for Rose. Although at the moment he looked like he'd rather be anywhere else but the library.

"You probably heard that I'm having a little birthday party," Albus announced with flourish, placing a folded piece of parchment on top of Scorpius' alchemy homework. "Come for a few drinks. Some chit-chat. Cake-cutting. And cheer up, for Merlin's sake."

Scorpius wasn't fooled by Albus' casual invitation. If it was anything to do with a Potter, half the school was going to get involved. Potters were tiresome that way.

"Thanks," Scorpius said. "I'll think about it."

"That's not good enough."

Scorpius and Albus turned to Hugo in mild surprise. He looked like the steam was going to spew from his ears any moment.

"My sister—she'll be happy to see you. She hasn't been herself for awhile. Wouldn't talk to anyone in the summer."

"Hugo," Albus cautioned.

"She won't paint," Hugo went on forcefully. "And I know it's all because of _you,_ Malfoy. She acts like there's nothing wrong, but obviously something's happened—"

" _Hugo_ —"

"Don't you remember, Al? The last time she acted out like that was with the bloody cauliflowers—"

"Collyfen," Scorpius corrected under his breath.

"How could I forget, really," Albus said, cringing. He turned back to Scorpius as Hugo stared the latter down, red in the face and agitated. "Look. Just come. It won't hurt, and it might help. We're graduating. Surely you can show up to at least one of my parties."

"I said, I'll think about it—"

"Turn up, Malfoy," Hugo snapped, before leaving with a sheepish Albus on his heel.

* * *

Analise had been delighted when Scorpius finally agreed to go to Albus' party, although perhaps he said yes for all the wrong reasons. He couldn't help but wonder if Rose would be there with Brock McLaggen.

For reasons Scorpius couldn't fathom, the hulking Gryffindor persisted with Rose, and had for months. He was the antithesis of everything Scorpius was: a hard-headed athlete, loud and churlish, a social parasite of the first degree. In kind, McLaggen was not fond of Scorpius, and showed it in the way some men asserted their dominance—by territory. McLaggen distrusted Slytherins in a most Gryffindor manner. He was threatened by subtlety.

When Scorpius and Analise entered the Gryffindor common room a few evenings later—Albus had paid a plucky first year to be The Fat Lady's Door Bitch—the party was in full swing. Drunklark smoke drifted in the air, filling Scorpius with a promise of the highs that lay in the night ahead. An abundance of Daisyroot Draught bottles were ferried about on floating trays. The crowd formed one boisterous entity, the music cranked up to deafen.

McLaggen and Rose were already in the middle of the dance floor, shimmying to a tune from Lily Potter's magic jukebox. Rose was a damn sight, her shyness tucked away in favour of the music. Her movements were fluid, brave—minutely seductive as McLaggen twirled her around, her pearl white dress lifting to bare her pale thighs. She had been drinking, that much was obvious. Even with a mix of girls sharing her space, she was beyond compare.

Scorpius willed himself to look away.

As Analise ran off to wish Albus a happy birthday, Scorpius made it to the drinks table to get them each a bottle of Daisyroot. Zabini was there, holding his own bottle. Both he and Albus ran in the same drinking crowd, so Scorpius was not surprised to see him there.

"Replaced one Hufflepuff with another, then?" Zabini said tartly.

They had come to a truce of sorts over the years, but it didn't stop Zabini from being a downright arse when he wanted to be. Scorpius ignored him and turned to leave, but Zabini grabbed his shoulder.

"The question is," he whispered conspiratorially, "which Hufflepuff warrants a cold shower at five in the morning?"

Scorpius shot him an icy glare. Zabini chuckled like he was pleased with himself, gracefully stepping aside for Analise as she appeared by Scorpius' elbow, her chestnut curls bouncing behind her.

"Let's dance!" she chirped excitedly, taking her bottle of Daisyroot. "I love this song!"

As she dragged him onto the dancefloor—really, it was just a makeshift square in the middle of the common room—he made an effort to look at her. She was rather cute tonight, adorned by little strawberry hairclips, her lips made lush by a shimmery pink lip gloss. There was an infectious energy about her—people responded to her, loved to soak in her unending optimism. For a moment, he couldn't comprehend why a perfectly nice girl like Analise deigned to put up with his disinterest.

Scorpius took another swig of his Daisyroot.

Alcohol flowed all too freely. Someone, possibly Albus, kept shoving a new bottle in his hand, one after the other. The flashing lights from a hovering disco ball soon began to swim in his eyes, and Scorpius felt claustrophobic in the mass of twerking, grinding bodies. Analise was having the time of her life, swallowed into different circles of friends at every turn. Scorpius found himself accosted by different dance partners, all of Albus' very pretty friends, yet he found himself looking past each one for a glimpse of red.

He ended up drinking more than he danced. Scorpius didn't think anything he did qualified as dancing, anyway. His bottle—the sixth or seventh?—was almost empty when the opening notes of a slow song started playing. His stomach lurched. The Carpenters, of _course_ it had to be the Carpenters. Catcalls and whistles sounded throughout the Gryffindor common room. People scrambled to pair up. Scorpius turned resolutely to leave the dancefloor, only for a shock of red hair to collide right into his chest.

"It's the Carpenters," came Rose's voice. "You can't leave."

And just like that, she was pressed against him, her arms around his neck. It was overwhelming, to be starved of her for months, and now he struggled to make sense of having her so close. This wasn't new to him. They held each other like this for years, just like this, in the privacy of the North Wing, her feet bare and his smile hidden in her hair. A gentle ache stirred within his chest, yet his soul sighed at the familiarity of her, the shackles of missing her slowly coming undone by her presence. Her eyes met his, an alcohol-kissed gaze that loosely held his own.

Maybe they won't remember this tomorrow.

Their bodies recognised each other. They fit together without fuss, hands slotting at familiar places, his cheek against her hair, her nose now tucked in his shoulder. She inhaled, the same way whenever he held her, like he was her very breath. He glanced up to see McLaggen glaring at him from across the room. Albus was talking animatedly with him, as though to keep him from storming onto the dancefloor and prying Rose from Scorpius.

"Your boyfriend looks pissed," he said.

"Not my boyfriend."

"Not yet."

Rose shrugged, dreamy and content. She didn't seem to care one way or another. "Analise told me. About how happy she is with you."

"We haven't gone out long." He stroked her cheek, almost by habit. A lock of red hair left his fingers, the tip coming to a stop by her mouth. Rose leaned into his touch.

"She thinks you're mysterious, you know," she said. "Scorpius Malfoy, _mysterious_. Imagine that. She said that's why the girls are mad about you. It's almost as though she enjoys not having you figured out. It's funny to me."

"Why's that?"

"You're such an open book." She tweaked his nose affectionately. "Like right now."

"What do I look like?"

She studied him, cloudish and keen, as though she was trying to place him on a canvas. "Like you miss me," she said. "A lot."

Perhaps it was the influence of Daisyroot. Something ferocious clicked in him, and Scorpius no longer cared if they were seen. He tightened his hold on her, lowering his head to nuzzle the fragrant skin of her neck, the pearl fog of intimacy providing respite for his bruised heart. Rose returned his fervent embrace, raising goose bumps on the skin under his dress shirt.

"I tried to find it, you know," she whispered with a faraway smile. "Your scent."

At her familiar candor, he felt a wry smile tug at the corners of his lips.

"I was at the greenhouse, and I tried to piece you together—nutmeg, sandalwood, grass, oakmoss… I couldn't get close enough." Rose's voice trailed off, as though lost to her thoughts. "I wonder what I left out."

"How much have you had to drink?" he asked softly, as she sighed into his shoulder.

"Not too much. I have rather good tolerance, actually. Comes with being a Weasley." He was amused at her indignance, relishing the way her fingers brushed lightly against the nape of his neck. "…I think I know what I'm missing."

"What?"

"You." There was a ghost-like wistfulness in her voice. "It's you."

Neither of them noticed the song end. They stood there wrapped in each other, their eyes locked, the world hushed. His heart was sore from adoration. Rose looked breathless, as though they had raced each other some place, rather than simply dance to a slow Carpenters song. Her pale skin was flushed, the blue in her eyes impossibly bright. The universe was conspiring against him, making her lovelier every day that he couldn't have her.

They were so close. He was mad about her. Hopelessly so.

The call of his name cut through the white noise, and they jumped apart, the tenderness of the moment tarnished by loud, raucous beats. Analise fought her way through the crowd, beaming when she found them. "Hey, Rosie!"

"Analise," Rose said, blinking as though she had been rudely shaken awake. "Listen, um, I'm just going to look for Albus for a bit—"

Without thinking, Scorpius reached out to stop her, but Analise caught his hand. "Don't you need a breather, Scorpius? It's getting a bit warm in here, isn't it?"

She tugged him away from the crowd and out of the common room. The cool air was a relief against his warm cheeks. Analise paused a way down the stairs, by one of Gryffindor Tower's many windows. The silence between them felt oddly loud.

"What's going on between you and Rose?" she asked unexpectedly, her voice strained. Her sunny disposition seemed to have been stripped away by the grey pallor of the moonlight.

"We were dancing."

"Maybe it's because you two are usually so—I don't know— _reserved_. But everyone was looking."

"Were you?"

"I wasn't." Scorpius could hear the lie in her voice. "But enough people were telling me things." A beat. "Did you kiss her, then?"

"No," he said simply, "but I wanted to."

The admission hung heavy between them. Analise pursed her lips, fingernails cutting into her palm. Rose's words returned to him in snatches— _if you break her heart, it'll be all my fault, and I can't bear it._

"She's with Brock," Analise blurted, a pitchiness in her tone. "She never said anything, but I knew you've always had a soft spot for her. How can we get a proper shot at anything if all you do is look at her?"

Scorpius stifled a laugh.

Analise watched him, aghast. "You think this is funny?"

"No, I was just doing the numbers. It took me five years to realise how I felt about Rose. And you think I can fall in love with you after five dates."

"She's with _Brock_ —"

"It doesn't matter. My feelings have nothing to do with who she wants."

She seemed to wilt at his words. Scorpius' head felt heavy—he was going to wake up with a hangover and a ton of regrets. He swallowed, tilting his head back and trying to hold his tongue from lashing out any further.

So much for good manners. He'd blown it.

"I got to go," he muttered. But before he could make a move, Analise had caught him by the collar and cornered him with a kiss.

She tasted like Harriet Batworthy—static and tedious, as indistinct as any mention of the weather. She could be Celeste Warnog or Agatha Fawley, for all he knew. Scorpius pulled away without response, the warm flutter that Rose had imparted to him now completely extinguished. He couldn't look at her as he thumbed her lip gloss from his mouth. The stickiness marked him, cloying and wilful.

Analise released him then, looking shattered.

"Blimey," came a voice.

They glanced up to see Albus and Rose at the top of the stairs, perfectly stunned expressions on their faces.

"We'll just go—" began Rose.

"Sorry for interrupting," Albus finished awkwardly, taking a backward step. "We were thinking of taking a walk, but, uh… maybe not."

They retreated upstairs, their footsteps echoing off the walls. Scorpius closed his eyes as Analise uttered a breathless sob, her hand cupped over her mouth. He was suddenly exhausted by her strawberry clips.

"It's not her fault," he said. "I tried."

"Just go," Analise whispered, her eyes fixed on nothing as her tears spilled over. "Please."

It was the kindest thing he could do, so he left without a backward glance.

* * *

Analise didn't speak to him in the days after that. Just as well. Scorpius was tired of it all, the social politics of dating and parties. He wanted to return to obscurity, missing the time where he was unpopular to the point of invisibility. He hated the hopeful ruckus he caused every time he stepped into the library, girls nudging and giggling. _What's the point?_ he thought bitterly. He wasn't going to fancy any one of them.

He ended a long session at Needham's later that evening, his mind doused by formulas and facts. Alchemy workshops had become increasingly challenging as the weeks wore on, leaving Scorpius with no time to dwell on the lack of contact with Rose. In a way, he was glad for it. Perhaps, he thought numbly, this sort of aloneness would have been the normal state of affairs if Rose had never said hello. It was possible that, in this alternate universe, he would have even been happy in this very moment, looking forward to the prospect of graduation. Now, his heart sank at the suggestion that he may not even have Rose's friendship past the summer.

Maybe, he realised with a pang of hurt, she would end up with McLaggen after all. They would marry, and she would be perfectly fine without him.

Scorpius left Needham's study in a foul mood, striding quickly as though to escape the cloud of depression that hung over his head. As he headed down the hallways, making his way towards the Slytherin dungeons, he heard a most unpleasant clucking of the tongue. An overpowering scent of cigarette smoke permeated the air.

"Well, look what we've got here."

Brock McLaggen emerged from one of the empty classrooms, a cigarette between his fingers. Scorpius didn't heed him, nor slow his pace. McLaggen tsked in irritation at his aloofness, catching him roughly by the shoulder. Scorpius shrugged him off, swiftly straightening his cloak before meeting the unwelcome sight of McLaggen's sneering face.

"What do you want?" he asked coldly.

"To talk. You can keep me company until my date arrives."

"We have nothing to talk about."

"Oh come on, Malfoy, of course we do. Or are you too courtly to exchange a word with a bloke like me?" McLaggen leaned in, unpleasant tendrils of smoke lifting around him. "Listen here. I want you to leave Rosie alone, you got me?"

Scorpius raised his gaze with an imperceptible smile. "Feeling threatened, McLaggen?"

"Threatened? By _you_?"

Scorpius felt the dark cloud he was trying to avoid sink into him, a white-hot anger pooling in his chest at he fixed McLaggen with a steely gaze. "You know, she told me you're not even her boyfriend," he said, in a dangerously silky tone, "So is it really appropriate for you to tell me to back off?"

McLaggen dropped his cigarette, pulling roughly at Scorpius' collar. "You're a cocky shit. Have you even gone past first base with her? Because I—"

He never got to finish, because Scorpius had broken away and smashed a fist in his face. McLaggen tumbled back against the wall, crying out—at this point, Scorpius had gone blind with rage. He _hated_ McLaggen for laying a finger on Rose, abhorred his unbearable arrogance, and most of all, he couldn't stand that someone this detestable even had the gall to _want_ a girl like Rose Weasley.

"You're _jealous_ ," McLaggen gurgled, as he lunged forward and clamped Scorpius by the neck. "You're just fucking jealous of me, Malfoy!"

"Shut up," Scorpius heard himself bellow.

"Shall I give you tips on get laid, you ponce?"

"Shut _up_!"

There was blood on his knuckles, but Scorpius didn't care. He was going to murder him. Brock hurled forward with a blow of his own across Scorpius' cheekbone—he heard a crack, a horrible wetness stinging his nose. It was at this point that footsteps sounded, and then there she was—Rose had just turned the corner, her eyes widening at the sight of them.

"Brock— _Scorpius_? What are the two of you—let _go_ of him!"

"Fuck no," McLaggen roared.

Scorpius barely registered Rose's presence until she was between them—literally—looking more furious than he'd ever seen her. Scorpius exhaled, Rose's back pressed against his chest. She had a wand to McLaggen's neck, blue eyes as cold as steel, her jaw tight as she stared him down.

"Back off," she said, in a voice he had never heard before. "Or I'll hex your eyes out."

McLaggen's glared at her, eyes bloodshot and lip cut. "You forgetting who you're dating, Rosie? You're on his side?"

"Yes," Rose said, her expression unreadable. Her hand caught Scorpius', clasping tight. "I suppose I am."

The sound of shuffling feet and a creaking oil lamp neared—Filch, Scorpius realised. Rose seemed to have heard as well; she lowered her wand, wordlessly tugging Scorpius' hand as she broke into a run. McLaggen screamed after them, but they didn't wait to see him get caught by the loathsome caretaker.

* * *

"Ow."

"Shh." Rose looked anxiously at Scorpius, a book of spells on her lap as she held her wand to Scorpius' face. "Just a few more—"

Scorpius winced as she closed the cut on his lip. They had escaped Filch with a mad dash to the Slytherin dungeons. Apart from the odd stare from a group of second-years as they crossed the common room, Scorpius and Rose had made it into his dormitory relatively unscathed and unnoticed. Scorpius had pulled Rose onto his bed, drawing the curtains and casting a Silencing charm for privacy. Zabini would have a lot to say otherwise.

Rose had already fixed his bruises and fractured cheekbone. She wasn't a huge Quidditch fan, she explained sheepishly, so everyone back at home relied on her to be the medic. The dim light threw an odd shadow against her features; she looked soft-faced, doll-like. Scorpius wanted to keep staring at her. Rose murmured another incantation, and a sharp sting went through his eyebrow. Well, it was better than going to the Hospital Wing and getting a month's detention.

"It'll probably hurt for a few more hours, but you look alright." Rose dropped her wand, her palms coming to rest against his cheeks. "Scorpius. How did that happen?"

"He said a few things I didn't agree with."

"That was enough to lead to a brawl? You _promised_ me, remember? You said you'd never get into a fight again. I can't bear to see you hurt."

It was all too easy to defend himself, but Rose didn't deserve a regurgitated version of the garbage McLaggen was spewing. Instead, his fingers curled gently over her wrist. "Don't see him anymore," he said. "Please."

Rose said nothing for a long moment.

"I was going to tell him tonight," she said, not meeting his eyes. "I'm just not interested in him. You were right, you know. You can tell how important someone is by a kiss."

"Don't talk about other men kissing you," he said quietly. "I can't stand it."

"You were kissing Analise."

"No. _She_ kissed me." His voice was firm. "It's not going to happen again."

Rose exhaled in a rush, a slow flush heating up her cheeks. "I ruined it for everyone," she said softly, "didn't I?"

"Analise probably won't want to be around me for a long time."

"It's me she's mad at," Rose corrected, her eyes wet. She took a shuddering breath, lowering her head into her hands. "I didn't _think_ , Scorpius. Jordan asked me why I couldn't have just been honest with Analise. I just—it never occurred to me what I did would make it worse."

Scorpius tugged gently at a lock of her hair. "Real friends appreciate honesty," he said. "It probably hurt them more that you couldn't be honest about what you feel."

Rose looked at him, the light in her eyes diminished by guilt. "I hurt _you_."

"Immeasurably."

"What can I do?"

"Flowers. Love letters. The works."

"Flowers and love letters. And you say I'm the romantic."

At this, they exchanged the smallest of smiles. A familiar silence fell between them, comfortable as always. How he missed this—missed _her_. Scorpius took her hand in his. Her skin felt uncharacteristically smooth under his fingertips, missing the familiar ridges of dry paint.

"When did you last paint?" he asked, studying her hands.

"Awhile ago."

"Not this term?"

"I haven't been able to pick up my sketchbook. Not since…" Rose paused, as though hesitating to tell him. Scorpius recalled how he'd carelessly flung her sketchbook on the floor between them, the pages crumpled and lifeless, as though they were worth nothing. He exhaled, guilt gripping his heart. He had been careless with her.

"Rose," he murmured, "I'm so sorry."

She shook her head. "It's not your fault, Scorpius," she said, with a smile that barely reached her eyes. "I just—don't have it in me to look at a blank page recently. It's funny, isn't it? I haven't found the canvas this daunting for years."

Scorpius lifted a thumb, pressing gently on her plush lip to keep her from biting it red.

"Paint me tomorrow," he said in a low tone. "From memory. I want you to think of me."

Rose's expression softened. Their fingers laced loosely then, almost by habit. Her hair was careless and free, the dim lighting of the dormitory making her look younger than usual. For a moment, Scorpius was reminded of the innocence in their friendship years prior—a time where affections came easy, their closeness free from the burden of desire. Now, whenever Rose met his gaze, it was all he could do not to kiss her. Every little thing about her overwhelmed him.

He wanted her so much.

"I love you," he said, because it was the tender, brutal truth.

Rose stilled, a soft breath between her parted lips, as though she was afraid any move she made would unsettle him and prompt him to take back his feelings. Scorpius reached out, pulling her down to lie beside him. They stayed like this, his arms wrapping around her and cradling her to him. Her socked feet brushed gently against his ankles, a comforting warmth. He closed his eyes as she placed a careful kiss in his hair.

"You should rest," she said softly. "I won't leave until you fall asleep."

He cheated, staying awake as long as he could, and held her close until fatigue finally set in. For the first time in a long time, he slept deeply, his dreams put to rest by the sound of Rose breathing beside him.

When he awoke the next morning, bleary-eyed and disoriented, a quaint cluster of young violets sat on his bed stand, golden-hued by sunrise. He reached for the crudely folded parchment among the petals, unfolding it against the daylight.

 _Scorpius,_

 _Please let me set things right with you and Analise. I need time; will you give me that?_

 _I have to paint this morning. Perhaps it was your sleeping face._

 _The violets are for you._

 _\- Rose_


	8. Vintage

_Only an epilogue left! This took forever because I wrote a million drafts… but this was the one I was happiest with. Do review if you liked it! In the meantime, you can also check out my new story, A Bouquet of Scandals, which I'm really excited about. Thanks for sticking with me :)_

* * *

 **Seventh year II: Vintage**

In one of Rose's many dream-memories, Scorpius was smiling at her, his cheeks flushed from too much wine.

They were tucked away in Scorpius' room, the snow falling in sheets outside. It was the winter holidays of sixth year, and Rose had come to visit the Malfoys on Boxing Day. After an evening of poring over their respective books, with the occasional discussion about art or alchemy, Scorpius had stolen to the cellar to choose a few bottles of his father's vintage wines. And now, they sat boneless at the foot of his bed, a few bottles in, hazy and happy in each other's company.

"That's enough," Rose protested, snatching her glass away from yet another pour. As a Weasley, she had partaken in numerous secret drinking sessions with her cousins from a fairly young age, and had built a rather impressive tolerance for alcohol. Even so, she was now thoroughly buzzed. She bit back a chuckle as Scorpius tugged gently at a lock of red hair.

"Just a little bit more," he coaxed, gesturing at the nearly-empty wine bottle.

Despite the Malfoys' reputation as wine connoisseurs, Scorpius had managed to get adorably tipsy. It was not in his character to let loose so easily, and that in itself made Rose's heart bloom. He felt safe enough with her, perhaps, to reveal his unique brand of silliness. Even drunk, she found him devastating. Rose's cheeks were on fire all evening, and not just from the wine. She couldn't stop herself from staring at him, drinking up each detail, committing him to memory every time he sipped from his glass.

His refined mannerisms, somewhat off-kilter from too many drinks; the powdery flush on his usually pale cheeks; the elegant collarbones peeking out from under his unbuttoned dress shirt…

Rose set down her own glass, swallowing the odd lump in her throat as Scorpius met her dreamy gaze.

"You're doing it again," he teased in a low voice.

"What?"

"Studying me." He emptied the last of the bottle into his glass, taking a sip before clinking his glass against hers. "Cheers."

Then he leaned in and pressed his mouth over hers, tasting like the sweetness of wine as he sought the silken softness of her tongue. Rose sighed, eyes fluttering shut as Scorpius drew her close. They kissed often in school, and those moments always tasted of the precious innocence of daytime. He was always so careful with her, and tonight there was a certain recklessness in the way he touched her... as though he craved something more. This kiss was fervent and deep, marked by a feverish desire that refused to be hindered. Even so, it felt familiar and true, as everything tended to feel with Scorpius.

God. He was beautiful to the bone.

"Rose..." Scorpius' eyes were heavy-lidded and unfocused, yet fixed on her. His hair felt like tousled satin under her fingers. "Don't go back to your room."

Her breath hitched at the naked longing in his voice. "Your parents will be so mad."

"Don't care." Scorpius tugged her onto his lap, his fingers sliding coyly up her jumper to trace the skin there. "Sleep with me."

" _Scorpius_."

Scorpius puckered his lips slightly, the way he liked to do when he pondered over a complex subject. Unwittingly, a silly little smile stole into her face. He was precious.

He caught her hand in his as their noses brushed, the mischief fading from his eyes. "Just sleep, I promise," he murmured, nuzzling her cheek. "Nothing more. You asked me to stay once, and I did. Won't you return the favour?"

"Did I, now? How do you remember these things?"

"Hard to forget the night you refused to get out of a storm."

"I told you—it was for research."

"So you _do_ remember… don't pout. It makes me want to kiss you."

Rose's eyes softened as he hugged her close, his fingers fisting gently into the back of her shirt as they held each other, limbs tangled in a most delightful way. She breathed him in—the wonderful, earthy scent of him, nutmeg, sandalwood and all the plants he loved to surround himself with—and whispered, shyly, "Or you can kiss me anyway."

That night was the first time in their friendship that Rose felt it—that terrible, smouldering heat that had submerged in the spaces between them, threatening to encroach their beings and swallow them whole. Albus once told her, _no one can get through to either of you when you're together. It's like you two exist in a whole other dimension._

Memories like this one, disguised poorly as dreams, woke Rose too early on mornings in her seventh year, breathless and wanting Scorpius in the worst of ways.

* * *

"You need to tell him."

Rose looked up from her sketchbook to see Analise hovering over her. She had on a ladybug hairclip that looked very sweet indeed, and Rose would have commented on it if Analise hadn't dropped unceremoniously into the seat beside her, looking quite like she ate something sour.

"Analise," Rose said in surprise. Analise lifted her chin and closed her eyes, as though seeking help from some higher power, before turning back Rose.

"Scorpius Malfoy," Analise said, emphasising every word, "is a very popular boy, Rosie."

Oh, god. Were they really going to discuss Scorpius? They had just recently reached a tentative truce over the matter, one that allowed for them to be somewhat friends again. Jordan had been so relieved they were speaking again that she had teared up in her sleeve when she thought Rose wasn't looking.

No, it wouldn't do to upset the delicate equilibrum they had worked so hard to recover.

But Rose was an optimist, so she closed her sketchbook and regarded Analise anyway.

"I know that," she said at length. "He has a library fanclub of sorts, doesn't he? He doesn't say much about them, but he's received a bunch of love letters over the years."

"Oh, good. So you're aware. You have a crisis on your hands, I hope you know."

Analise's dramatics made it feel like everything was back to normal, somehow. Rose relished the feeling, and smiled despite herself. "Well, if there's a crisis, I suppose you must tell me about it."

"You remember Harriet Batworthy, don't you?"

Harriet Batworthy. Albus' friend, the dark-haired beauty from Gryffindor who had been Scorpius' first kiss. She had a lovely, striking face that people rarely forgot—doubly so for an artist like Rose. "Yes, of course—what about her?"

Analise lowered her voice. "She's been with him all day, Rosie. Albus just told me she's got him in his sights again, since he's apparently single now."

" _Albus_ told you?"

"He's into her for awhile now, so he watches her like a hawk—anyway, that's not the point." Analise waved carelessly. "Apparently his admirers heard that I'm no longer dating him, and they've been at it like vultures since. So you _have_ to tell him. Now. Today."

Rose tugged gently at Analise's sleeve, but her friend went on.

"He also deserves to know you daydream about him during study sessions, and that you sketched his face onto Jordan's notes by accident yesterday—"

"But, Analise," Rose said gently, trying to ignore the embarrassment she felt at Analise's observations, "you haven't forgiven me."

Analise stopped, staring at Rose as though she was speaking Parseltongue.

"I already have," she said unexpectedly. "I could never hold anything against you, Rosie. And certainly not something like this."

At this, Rose felt her breath hitch. "Oh," she said faintly. She wanted to smile, and yet her eyes were blurring… and her heart felt like it was crumpling from the lack of air in her chest.

Without warning, she had launched herself at Analise, clutching her friend so tightly that they were both rendered breathless.

"Oh my god," Analise gasped, misty-eyed as she pulled away. "Did you think— _Rose_. You're the one who tried to give me your soulmate just so I'd be happy." She managed a watery smile. "When are you going to be the awful, selfish friend we all deserve?"

"You just described Jordan."

Analise burst out laughing. "Oh, you. She's going to be so angry she wasn't here for this conversation."

Rose was wiping her eyes as Analise rested her cheek in her shoulder. "I'll try to be a little more selfish," she promised, unable to contain her relief as they linked arms.

"Also do try to be wilful… jealous… and a cunning little minx…"

"Maybe not a minx."

"Oh no... A complete minx." Analise giggled then, amusement crinkling in her teary eyes. "He wants you so bad, Rosie. Surely you felt that? We all did, you know. At Albus' birthday party." She shook her head at the memory. "God, you're going to ruin him. I just know it."

Rose glanced at Analise, a nervous flutter blooming in her chest at the words. Just the thought of Scorpius… of his heavy-lidded grey eyes and privately sensual smile… was enough to make her dizzy.

The laughter had faded from Analise's face as she observed Rose. Gently, she reached forward and thumbed affectionately at Rose's heated cheek.

"Just look at you," she murmured, with a knowing smile. "Tell him, Rosie."

* * *

This was the sort of thing that proved exactly why Rose wasn't sorted into Gryffindor.

She wondered, not for the first time, if her obsessive love for art had stunted her in every other way—her ability to make friends or approach people with confidence.

And tonight, all she had to do was go to Scorpius, like the thousands of times in the last few years… and tell him how she felt.

It was the most frightening thing she had ever felt in her life.

She had always been the artist, and he… he was something else. He was the lens through which she saw the world, the muse that guided her instincts… She loved, loved, _loved_ Scorpius with her whole heart, and would have done so even if he never loved her at all.

Oh, Merlin.

Analise was right. She had to tell him.

Her heart jumping in her chest, Rose wandered around the hallways that would lead her towards the North Wing. Maybe, just maybe, she would be able to find Scorpius there tonight.

The student population thinned out around her as she headed in the direction of the North Wing, before she eventually found herself alone. It was at the junction of hallways that she heard voices.

She turned the corner, and stilled.

It was Harriet and Scorpius. Harriet had her hands behind her back, one foot tapping the stone floor as she tilted her head at Scorpius. Rose couldn't hear what they were talking about, but she was too distracted to really listen. Perhaps it was the artist in her that reacted first—she admired the sight of them… Scorpius was so tall, so striking, and hardly out of place beside Harriet's effortless beauty. Together, they made a picture so fitting that it took her breath away.

And when Scorpius looked up then, Rose saw herself mirrored in his pale eyes. She was Rose Weasley, merely Rose Weasley, and he…

He was everything.

Rose turned on her heel and left, her bare feet soundless on the floor as she took off blindly down the hallway. She seemed to have lost her senses completely; her heart felt as numb as her bones. If she could just manage to curb the swell of tears before it hit her throat, then… then maybe there was a chance she wouldn't bawl in public. Because she was too far away from the safety of her bed and its privacy curtains, and it was silly, even for a girl, to be in tears in the middle of the hallways for no good reason.

She had never been the sort to get angry when she didn't get her way. From a young age, she had been accustomed to having her toys stolen by James or Hugo, giving in to Albus' demands to be leader at play dates, and lending Lily her favourite dolls. She had never felt possession over material things, and rarely resented stepping aside for someone else. Her interests, as flighty as they seemed, were in the gifts of nature.

And, for a long time, Rose believed no one could take nature away from her.

That was why she cried when the Collyfen wilted, and also why she was falling apart over Scorpius Malfoy.

It was a tedious, unrewarding process. To love something— _someone_ —so desperately that it filled the depths of her soul, only for it to be proven temporary. Perhaps, on a subconscious level, Rose had always suspected Scorpius would never be hers, disappearing the same way Hugo hid her toys. Perhaps, she thought, with an unpleasant sting in her eyes, this was why she had wanted to remain friends with Scorpius, more than she ever wanted his love.

And yet, every time she looked at him, she felt overwhelmed by a tide of want that was all too inappropriate for mere friendship. How obvious she was, even then—how clumsy her silly expressions.

How horribly transparent her affections were for him.

And how beautiful they both were in comparison.

Then, in a single moment, she was robbed of all breath—an insistent heat had surrounded her in the form of arms, tugging her backwards and into an embrace she knew all too well. Sandalwood, grass, nutmeg…

Her bookbag and sketchbook fell to her feet with a thump, and then she felt Scorpius' mouth pressed between her neck and shoulder, a rough kiss marking her freckled skin.

"Rose," he whispered. "Stop running."

She felt like an idiot, the horrid clench on her heart finally undoing her will not to cry. Oh, she would not, she would _not_ —but her cheeks were streaked with tears now, her vision an awful blur. Scorpius released her gently, turning her around to face him. His hands had come to frame her face, the back of his fingers sweeping slowly across her damp cheeks.

"Don't cry," he said softly. "You're killing me."

Rose shook her head and looked away from him, her voice lost to the heavy swell of her throat. Scorpius' expression wilted, and he drew her close, a kiss buried in her hair. "I'll fix it, I'll fix it… tell me what's wrong."

It took her a few minutes to return to herself as he rocked her gently, her breaths returning to her as the panic subsided in her chest. She pulled away slightly, but Scorpius held fast, watching her with a tenderness that ached her.

"I…" And she was tired, suddenly, of letting her shyness dictate her actions, of not being forward with the only person with whom she'd ever felt wholly herself. So she steeled herself and met his eyes, letting the words tumble out, unpracticed and raw—

"I was jealous."

The silence between them seemed to stretch, mere seconds that felt like eternities. Scorpius was looking at her like he couldn't quite believe his ears. "Of Harriet? You know I don't like her that way." He paused, an amused quirk in the corners of his lips. "Though Albus does."

"So I've heard." Rose lowered her gaze, trying to curb her distress as she pushed away from his chest. "Please—it was silly of me, and I'm finished with it—"

"No," he breathed, a wonderment dancing in his eyes as his arms tightened around her. " _I'm_ not finished—not even close. I want to hear everything about it. Every detail. And I'm not letting you go until you say what I want to hear."

Rose ceased moving, her protesting hands now caught between her chest and Scorpius' own. The disturbing focus of his expression was making her insides coil with heat. He was as handsome as she'd ever known him to be, yet this man felt miles— _worlds_ —away from the pretty, reserved boy she had stumbled across in the library, those many years ago. That boy had wanted nothing from her.

This man wanted everything.

She was not accustomed to this, to such an intensity of feeling—not for nature or art, and certainly not for boys. Her breaths trembled, and her palms had fisted against his dress shirt, willing him away from her still. But Scorpius had merely met her efforts, pushing her backwards every time she squirmed to get away. One step, two steps, and then she was trapped, between the stone wall and the entire length of him, his tallness working against her. She couldn't move an inch without touching him somehow—the hard planes of his body, the silent strength of his thighs caging hers, the broadness of his shoulders leading into the stubborn arms that held her still.

"Scorpius," she said softly. Her heart loud in her ears.

"Tell me you love me." He had tugged down a sleeve of her jumper, revealing her slender shoulder. He lowered his head to kiss it, the moist sensation of his mouth weakening her knees. "Tell me you don't want anyone else to have me." A string of kisses, hot against her throat. "Tell me you'll never leave me again."

It was impossible to talk or think when he looked like that, tousled-haired and so gorgeously wanting. She could feel the insistent tingle in her palms, and realised she was aching in desperation to touch him… she lifted her paint-stained hands to his face, and he leaned into her touch, the warmth of his own hand covering hers.

And, like a thousand times before, Rose stepped her bare feet lightly on his oxfords, letting him catch her as she kissed him.

Oh, to kiss Scorpius at last... She had missed him so madly, remembered each startling detail of his beautiful face in every daydream, blindly tearing out sketchbooks when it was Analise who kissed him instead... It was then she found the words, carved repeatedly by her soul even before she recognised its language.

"I loved you first," she whispered in between kisses. "I must have loved you the moment I saw you at the platform… I loved you before you ever looked my way. You know how I feel about you..." She felt the curve of his smile against her mouth at the familiar words, uttered so casually in their more innocent years—"You must have felt it, Scorpius. My love for you even when I was too young to understand it."

And then she could no longer speak, because Scorpius was kissing her back. Passionately.

The entirety of his weight against her smaller frame sent a pleasurable jolt through her. Feelings, both emotional and physical, demanded her attention; she was fraying at the ends, and Scorpius was taking joy in pulling her apart. He angled his head slightly, deepening his kiss, his tongue seeking the silk warmth of her own as his fingers slipped into her hair, tugging her closer to him. His other hand had gone under her jumper, the heat of his palm meeting her smooth back, fingers curling to graze the graceful line of her spine.

They had kissed for years in the privacy of the North Wing. Playful, stolen kisses, gently discovering each other.

But he had never kissed her quite like this, as though he knew her body as well as he knew his own.

He broke away from the kiss then, breathless as he stared down at her. Oh, she thought, her heart skipping a beat, he was exquisite. Rose wondered if she looked anything like him, cheeks blooming and lips kiss-bruised. She felt the tremor of her fingers, itching to pick up her sketchbook and pencils, to record Scorpius to the pages, into memory. He smiled coyly then, his own fingers splaying over her hips as he brought her flush against him, delicately taking her hand in his and lifting her fingers to his lips.

Merlin. He knew her so well.

"Draw me later," he said, his voice low and hoarse, his eyes never leaving hers as he kissed her knuckles. "That can wait… but I can't."

The colour filled her cheeks. "What do you have in mind?"

Scorpius leaned in, his whisper feather light against her ear.

"Sleep with me tonight."


	9. Abraxus

_Finally - the end! I... honestly cannot believe I finished a fic. This was one of the more emotionally intense stories I've ever done, and I've been so overwhelmed by the response. Do let me know if you have ideas or headcanons you'd like me to pursue in future fic! In the meantime, I'll be working on A Bouquet of Scandals, so do check that out too. Once more, thank you for sticking with my lazy arse._

 _And just a little final note: the song that inspired this story is **Close To You** by The Carpenters. I think I made that pretty obvious though, ha :'D_

* * *

 **Epilogue: Abraxus**

A little over a year later, on a sunny midsummer's day, Scorpius Apparated onto a charming gravel drive framed by brimful beech trees.

He stumbled slightly at the landing, taking a moment to recover his equilibrium. Apparating always made him somewhat nauseous; Scorpius had long considered it an occupational hazard.

If nothing else, at least the jarring buzz of London's chaotic city life had gone from his ears, replaced instead by the muted sounds of a serene afternoon. Above him, a canopy of sparsely toothed branches swayed and sighed, startlingly green leaves swishing lazily to the symphony of birdsong. Patches of sunlight quivered at his feet as he walked, a leisurely breeze tickling against his tanned cheeks, warm and inviting. Nature, Scorpius thought with a rush of pleasure, always knew exactly how to welcome him home. The soles of his oxfords crunched against the gravel, each sound punctuating his purposeful stride towards the humble country house in the distance.

Upon graduation, Scorpius had chosen to move into the Abraxus House, a property built and owned by his great-grandfather. The house was modest in size, constructed of mellow red brick and slate roofs, and sat discreetly on the fringe of the Malfoys' expansive Wiltshire estate.

At first glance, it surely lacked the luxury of the Manor, but Scorpius' favourite parts of the Abraxus House were outside of it. Abraxus Malfoy had chosen a prime spot to locate his sanctuary. Every room overlooked the lush, sprawling greenery of towering oak and beech trees. In the distance, gentle rolling slopes of meadowland dipped into a glorious lake that mirrored every pigment of the sky.

To Scorpius, the serenity offered by the Abraxus House was far more valuable than the waxed marble floors and Roman pillars he grew up with. Indeed, there was something rather subversive about the house's obvious lack of vanity—as though Abraxus had undermined the suffocating formality demanded of him through his subtle choices in architecture.

Draco and Astoria had been reluctant to let Scorpius move out of the Manor. They regarded the Abraxus House as too crass to pass for a family heirloom, but Scorpius had warmed up to the property the moment he saw it. The moment he turned eighteen, he asked his father for the keys.

Here, he planned to build his dreams.

The faint hum of music reached his ears as he neared the doorstep, where the large oak door sat ajar. As he entered the house, he was greeted by a high-ceilinged staircase hall. He made his way through the adjoining space, pausing in the middle of a modest, oak-floored drawing room.

Despite the exhaustion he felt from the week's travels, Scorpius could feel a smile touch his lips as the pillowy sounds of Goldfrapp drifted past him. Since moving in together, he and Rose had unwittingly built an eclectic vinyl collection comprising music from both muggle and wizarding worlds. In recent times, both of them had become obsessed with Goldfrapp and the 80s-inspired wizarding duo, Clock & Quack.

Voices were coming from the kitchen terrace at the back of the house. He arrived at the edge of the kitchen, letting the familiarity of Rose's voice wash over him.

Her very presence felt like a balm on his soul.

"But if you could just shift just so," Rose was saying from beyond the rain-stained french doors, "your face will catch the light, and your nose will finally behave—"

"I have a perfectly fine nose, Rosie. Has it been an hour? Surely your clients aren't expected to sit still for an entire hour!"

Rose sounded like she was trying not to laugh. "Some of them did request a body-bind spell."

"You're not thinking of using it on me, surely?"

A pause. Scorpius had no doubt Rose was considering the idea. Then, with a lilt of amusement in her voice—"Of _course_ not, dad."

Scorpius moved closer to terrace as Rose continued to bicker with her father. Ron Weasley was seated awkwardly across from her canvas, looking torn between amusement and exasperation. He and Rose shared the same deep blue eyes, but his had none of her dreamy qualities. Instead, it was humour that dominated his expressions, a constant laugh skirting the edge of his words. Indeed, Ron exuded an affability that would have anyone mistake him for an approachable fellow… which he was. Unless your last name was Malfoy, or you were sleeping with his daughter.

In Scorpius' case, he certainly was both.

Which meant he should definitely approach with caution, no matter how friendly Ron Weasley was looking today.

Scorpius set down his briefcase, leaning against the kitchen counter and clearing his throat. Rose and Ron glanced over at him then; her face lit up, an adorable delight filling her face at the sight of him. Scorpius didn't even notice Ron frowning at his appearance. He was too distracted by Rose, who looked impossibly lovely in the late glow of the afternoon, her sunkissed skin contrasting gorgeously against the crisp white of her paint-stained tunic. But most of all he relished the unbridled happiness in her eyes as she hurtled past the french doors and into his arms, a secret kiss pressed into his neck. The intimate soap scent of her skin filled his senses… like opium to an addict.

"You're back," she whispered, fighting back a goofy little smile as she gazed up at him.

"Hi," he murmured.

Just her closeness alone was enough to undo reason. It took all of his restraint not to cart her off to bed, or pin her against the nearest wall, or kiss her into oblivion right there and then—Ron Weasley be damned. As though reading his thoughts, Rose pulled away abruptly from his hold, a coy promise in her crinkling gaze. Scorpius remembered to breathe.

He schooled his expression as he turned to Ron, who now had red patches spreading across his cheeks. Scorpius swore he could see the heat radiating off of him in currents.

Rose glanced at her father with barely suppressed elation. Her fingers curled into Scorpius'. "He's home," she said merrily.

"I can see that," Ron said. He stood up stiffly from the deck chair, stepping gingerly across the threshold and into the kitchen, looking quite uncomfortable as he held out a grudging hand. "Mal… Scorpius."

"Mr Weasley, sir. It's good to see you."

"Rosie told me you were in London with Bill." A pause. "How did it go, then?"

"Aunt Fleur wrote me a few days ago," Rose blurted impulsively. "She's beside herself about the breakthrough, but how did the tests on Uncle Bill—"

Scorpius couldn't resist a smile at her enthusiasm. For close to three years, Scorpius and Needham had been working to crack the healing components that would repair the scars caused by werewolf bites. In the past few months, they had engaged Drusia Spatafore, an experienced Potioneer and a good friend of Needham's, to help them produce the first batch of antidotes. Bill Weasley had been their very first patient.

The fortnight he spent in London had been spent monitoring Bill's reaction to the tests. While the process took time, it soon became apparent that the scars would heal and fade with daily use of the antidote. In a best case scenario, Needham beamed, consistent usage could lead to the permanent recovery of Bill's formerly handsome features.

The high colour in Ron's face subsided as Scorpius delivered the good news. He began to nod, looking rather pleased despite himself.

"Well, this is… excellent work, boy. I suppose it's time I pay Bill and Fleur a visit." As his daughter looked up at Scorpius, her expression so openly smitten that it was impossible to miss, Ron added with some difficulty, "I have never gotten along with your father, as you know… but you're a credit to your parents, Scorpius."

"You could come over again tomorrow." Rose shot Ron a hopeful look. "Mr and Mrs Malfoy wanted to come see what we've done with the house, so we invited them over for breakfast. It'd be lovely if you and mum come, too. Scorpius is a pretty great cook—he understands herbs, you see." Her face had turned slightly pink. "He makes a delicious pecan cake, though he'll have to tone down on the sugar if you're coming by. He makes it extra sweet for me."

Scorpius felt his own cheeks heat up at the rather startled look on Ron's face. He met Scorpius' eyes, and suddenly there seemed to be a shared commiseration between the men. It was apparent they had that quality in common. They adored Rose with all their hearts, and could deny her nothing. And that included her absurd love of sweets.

At length, Ron said, "Well, we must keep it extra sweet, then." His voice was oddly low and gruff. "Your mum and I will come by for breakfast."

Rose's lips parted slightly in surprise. Then, she brightened like sunshine, as though understanding what he meant. Ron cleared his throat noisily and gave them a brusque nod, accepting a warm hug from Rose and a handshake from Scorpius.

Then, with a loud crack, he had Apparated away.

Rose turned to look at Scorpius.

The sudden privacy seemed to electrify the languid summer air, the once pleasantly warm room now almost too hot underneath his collar. Scorpius managed a staggered breath, savouring the sight of her unruly hair in a haphazard bun barely held together by a pencil… her quirky little smile, still carrying traces of her shyness even after the years they shared together.

Merlin, he wanted to touch her.

And yet, something stopped him from reaching for her. At Ron's exit, he could sense a change in her demeanor; she seemed almost to be buzzing from the inside, despite the fact that she had barely moved from where she was. As though she had a secret to tell, and had been waiting for the right moment to share it.

"I have to show you something," she said.

They stepped past the french doors, where a number of paintings were perched on easels. Rose slipped her hand in his, leading him towards the biggest canvas. It was a still life of the land that sprawled out from the Abraxus House... of the sprawling slopes of meadowland, dotted with beech and oak trees under a wide, cotton-filled sky.

Rose released his hand and turned her attention to the painting before her, raising her wand.

One flick. Two flicks. Three.

 _Concio expergefacio_ , she murmured, _anima veritas._

Within the painting, the sun rose before them, brush strokes of volcanic orange bursting at the seams of the horizon and splashing haze gold onto the morning mist. The sun changed positions, turning morning to noon to night, and back again. Rose retreated, her back brushing against Scorpius' chest. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her tightly to him.

Together, they watched as the still life painting seemed to exhale and breathe in a whirlpool of movement… the brush strokes, so fine and delicate, seemed to gasp and tremble, some irresisitible force emerging to the surface. The fine beech trees within swayed ever so gently, as though finding the rhythm of some passing breeze. Then, the rush of movement swelled and settled in the frame; the painting sighed, as picturesque as the very afternoon that surrounded them. Inside the canvas, the sun finally came to rest, sipping silver at the edges of the clouds. A brilliantly painted mirror image of its true life counterpart.

"A miracle, isn't it?" Rose said, her breath slightly hitched. Her fingers were still clutched tightly around her wand, as though she could hardly believe what she'd done.

"Yes," he whispered.

"To summon nature, one must understand it," Rose continued, as though in an awe-inspired trance. "Like composing the symphony of a storm, or crafting the first breath of dawn… I tried this for years. I could make a painting move. That was the easy part. But giving it the life of nature itself, its moods and temperaments…"

"When did you master this?"

"A week ago. While you were gone." Rose glanced up at Scorpius with a sheepish grin. "Less distractions."

Her candid response made him laugh, the tightness in his chest rising within him to find relief in his smile. "Do you know how special magical painters are?"

"Very. It's not very fashionable, is it? Everyone wants to be an Auror these days."

"Like Albus."

"Exactly like Albus."

"Which makes you a rare commodity."

Rose chuckled. "Well, I have a few commisions on hand. Did I tell you Brock McLaggen wrote me? He'd like me to paint his father's portrait."

"Tell him no."

"I already said yes. He's dating a model, anyway." Rose turned within his embrace, biting back a smile as he lowered his head to nuzzle her neck. "You think I'd fall for a man who can't tell Manet from Monet?"

"Fine. Take the commission. It doesn't matter where you go." His lips pressed into the soft line of her jaw, the briefest of kisses. "I'd steal you back somehow."

"Mmm. What's your strategy there?"

"A seduction involving Sherbet Lemon and some talk about Dali."

"You know my heart. How could I possibly resist you?"

"You couldn't." Scorpius drew a trembling breath as a flare of want seared through him, making him unable to resist kissing her again. "I thought we'd already established that."

Rose's eyes fluttered shut as his hands reached up to cradle her face, marking her skin with kisses… her forehead, her eyelids, her freckled cheeks, her dainty nose. She made a soft, adorable sound as his mouth found hers, the relief of finally being close to her overwhelming him.

They stumbled back into the house, her back now pressed against a wall—he didn't care where they were at this point. His tongue melded into hers, selfish and unyielding as he kissed her, seeking more heat, more depth, more everything. Rose tasted like the devil's own concoction of lemon and sunshine… Scorpius tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue teasing hers in a heated dance… before tracing the outskirt of her lush lower lip.

He could feel Rose coming apart against him, her sweetness and light so, so delectable under his mouth. His fingers had curled into her red hair, kisses trailing down the lovely line of her neck. She felt perfect in his hold… all soft curves and feather bones, her toes holding her up between his feet, arms gently circled around his neck and locking him against her.

They had made love for the first time in their seventh year, the night she finally returned to his arms after a separation that felt too long. Their first time had been marked by shyness and inexperience, but as always they managed to learn alongside each other, passion and heat interspersed with gentle affection and familiar giggles… She had devastated him with every move she made beneath him, his shuddering breaths cradled in the safety net of her red hair, her soft cries caught in his languid, open-mouthed kisses. Afterwards, Scorpius had held Rose against his chest and breathed her in as she slept, filled to the brim with a terrible happiness… and the reckless possessiveness of her very bones.

Rose's eyes fluttered open, her fingers raking gently through his hair. "What are you thinking about?"

Scorpius merely stared back at her, a fond smile stealing into the corner of his mouth. "I'm just glad," he said, voice low and hoarse, "that I don't have to miss you anymore."

"I've missed you too," she said softly. "So much that I feel bruised from the inside."

It was one of life's mysteries, how Rose Weasley could ever think she was anything but the sun or moon, the stars or the sky, in his very private universe. He forgot when or how, but he saw her in everything he cherished… Peaceful evenings by the fire. A chapter in his favourite book. The pleasure of a pale, dewy morning. She was all the beautiful things he could not explain, not through science or alchemy.

Scorpius was a man of reason, but he adored her to a point beyond his own comprehension.

His hand had worked up under her tunic, coming to palm the delicious curve of her breast. His arousal nudged against her stomach, drawing a soft breath from her. Scorpius lowered his head, tugging the loose tunic off her delicate shoulders. He took his time, teasing the slopes and valleys of her clavicle with his tongue, a silken kiss moving across her skin to linger hotly in the hollow under her throat. Her wispy frame writhed against his, sending pulses of consuming desire coursing through them both. He swallowed a moan as she held his face in her gentle hands, their slow, sipping kisses turning heated and intimate once more.

Without warning, he pulled away, swiftly picking Rose up in his arms. "Bed."

"Scorpius!" Rose protested, a squeak caught in her throat as she found her balance in the air. " _Wait_ —"

"I've waited long enough." Scorpius glanced down at her, his gaze heavy with intent. "Got nothing planned, I hope? Because we're not going anywhere."

Rose stared at him, a faint blush spreading across the bridge of her nose. "…You do know our parents will be here for breakfast."

Scorpius raised a mischievous eyebrow before springing them towards the bedroom. Rose burst out laughing, the sweet sound echoing through the walls of the house.

They had plenty of time.

 _\- the end -  
_


End file.
